


Into the Dark

by SirCatherine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst and Tragedy, Audio Content, Canon-Typical Violence, Captive Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester are Jack Kline's Parents, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Fanart, First Kiss, Hallucinations, Illustrations, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jack Kline is Precious, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Stockholm Syndrome, Multimedia, Multiverse, Mutual Pining, Obsessive Behavior, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Slow Burn, Survivor Guilt, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Worried Castiel (Supernatural), confused feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:09:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 48,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24281863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirCatherine/pseuds/SirCatherine
Summary: In the aftermath of the purgatory prayer, Dean is abducted by a mysterious angel from another timeline who has spent decades searching for a perfect copy of the Dean Winchester who was killed in his own reality.
Relationships: Alternate Castiel/Alternate Dean Winchester, AlternateCastiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Rowena MacLeod/Sam Winchester
Comments: 71
Kudos: 255





	1. Search and Seizure

The Blue Mermaid was a clean but sparse single-story motel situated right off old highway 26 on the western border of Scottsbluff Nebraska. It shared a newly refurbished blacktop parking lot with a small ice cream parlor. By this time of year, the lot was usually packed with vacationing families enjoying days of cloudless cerulean skies and warm star-filled nights, but the current setting was lacking that picturesque postcard scenery. 

Dark storm clouds crowded over one another in raging waves, bringing with them gusts of wind that made the trees howl and laid flat the surrounding flora. The red neon letters spelling out ‘VACANCY’ and their washed-out reflections on the flooded lot below were the only things clearly visible from the road. 

Then, in the distance, through sheets of unforgiving rain, a single headlight split the tar blackness of the empty midnight road. The dull roar of the downpour nearly drowned out the rich purr of the engine as a lone drenched motorcyclist approached and turned off the highway into the lot. Thunder rumbled directly over the motel loud enough to rattle the windows in the lobby before the accompanying flash of lightning illuminated the traveler astride his bike as he came to a halt just outside the main entrance.

The motel manager, a short portly man with a rosy complexion and greying beard, was leaning back in a computer chair in the office behind the check-in counter, snoring wetly into his chest when the bell above the door chimed and startled him awake. 

It wasn’t unheard of to get drifters looking for a room this late into the night, but that didn’t ease the jolt to his old heart. Blurry eyes popped open to discover a masked stranger hovering just inside the lobby entrance, completely drenched and dripping all over the carpet.

After taking a moment to get a hold of himself, the older man rose onto swollen feet and waddled out of the back muttering his annoyance in a string of colorful Russian the whole way.

The fluorescent lights of the lobby glared off the wet glossy black bike helmet still clasped securely in place on the newcomer's head, completely obscuring any facial identification. The manager paused inside the back doorway, eyeing the helmet and accompanying layers of sodden black biking attire suspiciously before glancing for the first time outside. As if to emphasize the strangeness of the encounter, another clap of thunder rolled loudly overhead accompanied by the harsh _rat-tat-tat_ fat of raindrops falling over the roof.

“Good evening friend.” The manager mumbled through a thick accent, before shuffling over to the check-in computer. “Strange weather, yes? Lucky for you we have rooms.”

The drifter moved further into the lobby, ignoring the manager’s words until he towered over him directly in front of the counter. The shorter man didn’t bother looking up, instead grumbling under his breath as he slid an ancient-looking sign-in book across the counter, “ **Да поможет Бог этому глухому идиоту.** (God help this deaf idiot.)”

The stranger tilted his covered head to one side before finally reaching up to remove the helmet. As it came off, the manager was immediately pinned under the scrutiny of two piercing blue eyes, the right of which was marred by a single angry-looking vertical scar.

Two identical scars ran over the right side of his mouth, pulling the corner down into a permanent snarl as he growled in reply, “ **Бог оставил меня давным-давно.** (God left me long ago.)” 

The manager went very still, unable to look away from the intensity of the eyes boring into him. 

“My apologies, “ The manager breathed evenly through a winning smile all the while his left hand moved ever so subtly toward the back of the counter and the twelve-gauge hidden beneath on the shelf. “I spoke out of place. What can I do for you?”

“It would be wise of you to keep your hand away from that shotgun.” The stranger warned without breaking eye contact.

Now on full alert, the manager froze, stricken by the absolutely lethal promise in his tone.

“I don’t want trouble.” Was the manager’s automatic response, his hands coming up in surrender. 

“Tell me what I need to know and there won’t be any,” the stranger fired back. He then turned his attention to the check-in book, methodically flipping it open and swiping a few pages aside. He scanned over the names and then one black-gloved finger fell to a point near the top of a page. “Here.” He hissed at the manager. “Rose and Hudson; I need to know when they checked out.”

The manager didn’t have to look at the page to know who the guy was talking about. “I remember them. They stayed here just one night three days ago.”

The drifter tensed, gritting his teeth in frustration for a moment before suddenly reaching into his jacket. The manager flinched away, expecting him to draw a weapon, but when the hand came back with only a slip of paper, he gulped a sigh of relief. The stranger slowly, almost reverently, unfolded it and flattened it against the sign-in page.

Glancing down, the manager discovered that the paper was actually a timeworn photograph with soft edges and a criss-cross of creases from being refolded and tucked away. It depicted a good-looking guy in a bathrobe with short shower damp hair captured in the throes of laughter. 

“Was this man one of them?” The stranger asked earnestly.

The soft nature of the image stood in stark contrast to the circumstances and the manager let out a huff of nervous laughter.

“You can’t be serious.” He sputtered, “What, did your boyfriend run out on you or something?”

It was the wrong thing to say. 

The manager was up against the wall in a blur of movement so quick he couldn’t process it, held aloft by a single solid hand on his throat. Stunned and more than terrified, the manager desperately clawed at the suffocating force on his airway but it didn’t budge. His wide terrified eyes took in the shift of the stranger’s appearance. The intense blue eyes were suddenly stark white and completely opaque. The air itself felt electrified, sparks of energy like tongues of white-blue flame blinked in and out of existence around them.

His attacker remained perfectly still despite the sudden swirl of pressure in the room, his colorless eyes trained on the manager.

“Where did they go?” He barked, sharp and venomous. Somewhere a piece of glass shattered.

The manager flinched violently. “I-I don’t know!” he choked out. 

“WHERE?!” His attacker roared, pulling the terrified human off the wall only to slam him back hard enough to crack the brick.

“WEST!” The manager finally wailed in agony, his eyes glossy and pleading. “ **Это все, что я знаю, клянусь! Пожалуйста, пожалуйста, смилуйтесь!** (That’s all I know, I swear! Please, please have mercy!)” 

The vague answer only seemed to further enrage the attacker, his grip around the manager’s throat tightening impossibly, slowly squeezing the life out of him. The manager sputtered around the blood pooling in his mouth and dribbling from his lips. Overhead the storm raged into a climactic cacophony, the windows behind them blowing out with an earth-shattering clap of thunder echoed by the harsh howl of high winds and raucous pelting of rain. The lights and electrical equipment around them flickered erratically before bursting all at once, sending shards of glass and arcs of electricity raining wildly down around them. 

The resulting darkness was pierced only by a final bolt of lightning that streaked across the pitch colored sky. The manager’s face had gone several sickening shades of splotchy purple, while his left eye bulged and swelled crimson in its socket. When the attacker finally released him, the large man hit the floor with a bloody squelching sound, his head lolling to one side at an unnatural angle.

“ **Я тебе верю** (I believe you.).” He rumbled to the corpse as his eyes faded back to blue.

The drifter turned away before pausing a moment to stoop and pick up the photo which had been swept off the counter to the ground in all the commotion. With a gentleness that didn’t seem possible in light of the act he’d just committed, he refolded the delicate material and tucked it safely back into his inner jacket pocket. Then he redonned his discarded helmet and stepped back across the dark lobby, glass crunching beneath his heavy black boots. 

Outside, the rain had let up, but thunder still quaked in the distance. The drifter mounted his bike, kicked the stand back into place and stepped on the ignition all in one fluid, well-practiced motion. The machine roared to life, deafening in the silence left in the wake of all that had occurred. It purred long and low as he pushed off, speeding away from the Blue Mermaid in a streak of black.

He turned west onto the main highway and road out of sight.

**  
  
**

* * *

**  
  
  
**

Wyoming was beautiful this time of year and the sun was at its peak in the cornflower blue sky over this week's shanty motel abode. Having just returned from a food run, Dean killed the engine and spared himself a few moments to soak up the warmth. It was the type of sunshine that made him want to toss a blanket out in the grass and stretch out for a nap. 

They’d done it a few times when Sam was still young. John would pull off in a field out in the middle of nowhere to catch a few winks in the car, and Dean would toss out an old moth-eaten blanket and they would sprawl together to watch the clouds. He wondered with sleepy nostalgia if his little brother remembered those few fleeting moments of peace stolen cat napping in the sun.

With a roll of his shoulders, Dean hauled himself out of the front seat and made his way back into their motel room. As he tossed the greasy back of burgers on the table in front of his not so little brother, Dean could suddenly feel his age more acutely than he had in a long while. They were so far from that distant memory now. If he tried to lay down in the grass now his knees would probably creak and Sam’s giant giraffe body would definitely hang off the edge of the blanket.

He snorted to himself at the mental image as he turned to the mini-fridge to fetch to beers.

The brothers had just wrapped up a case in Casper WY where they had spent the last three days playing a nasty game of hide and seek with a warehouse infestation of teenage poltergeists. They had all died in an angsty faux satanic suicide pact back in the seventies and had since been inciting suicides from other teens who used the derelict building for all manner of youthful mischievousness. The warehouse had been ripe with teenspirit (along with teen spirits, HA), marked up by discarded beer cans and homemade bongs, used condoms and graffiti as far as the eye could see. Two harrowing nights passed without any luck and Dean had been ready to burn the entire building down by the morning of the third day when Sammy finally unearthed and burned all the belongings that kept all the kids tethered to this plane.

Ironically, it had been all the personal effects they had slathered in lamb's blood at their fake altar before they ‘drank the kool-aid’ so to speak; a few gothic-looking pieces of jewelry, some creepy black and white photos, a copy of Catcher in the Rye…It would have been darkly comical if the reality hadn’t been so sad: they were just bored depressed kids looking for meaning and purpose. When the hunters had finally slumped into the car, more than ready to head back to the motel, it was just rounding 2 PM and the air between them was heavy and solemn. None of the spirits had been older than Jack; well, at least no older than he physically appeared to be. It was a sobering thought that made them both feel protective, especially considering Jack’s own search for purpose. 

Dean plunked a beer down for Sam and then slumped into the only other seat at the table, directly across from his brother. His thoughts shifted to the kid and, subsequently, to his keeper. They had both remained at the bunker to ‘catch up’ as Cas had explained it. The hunter knew that in reality the angel simply didn’t want to take his eyes off his adopted son, and who could blame him after what he’d been through. Since the kid had been back, Cas had been sticking around with such frequency that it was almost as though he was finally starting to consider the bunker his home. Not that Dean was complaining, far from it. Hell, he was thankful. After returning with him from Purgatory with the blossom, after his...prayer…they were on the mend, but they were still dancing around things left unsaid.

Despite his initial apprehension, Dean tried to look at their temporary separation during this hunt as a good thing. In between being tossed around by poltergeists and catching his four hours, he’d taken some time on the down-low to come up with a plan of attack. Sure he'd apologized but he knew without a doubt there was more he needed to say to Cas and this time he wasn't going to be a chicken shit about it. That didn't mean he wanted to blurt it out for the whole world to hear. No. What he had to say required scenery of the well thought out, private, face-to-face nature. 

Earlier, after he'd dropped Sam back at the motel, he'd taken off to get the food and used the privacy to call Cas. Of course, he had beat around the bush for a bit, updating the angel on the progression of the case before explaining that they'd be staying one more night in Wyoming because they weren’t as young as they used to be. He then assured the angel that they were leaving first thing so they could be home ‘in time for dinner’. After that, the conversation had ground to an awkward halt, so Dean had finally swallowed his pride and taken the dive. He’d let the angel know that when he got back, he wanted to take him somewhere, just the two of them, to talk. He hadn’t elaborated beyond that, but after a moment of silence in which Dean’s heart had never beat so hard or so erratically, the angel had responded with his typical, “Of course, Dean.” 

He very much hoped that he hadn’t been imagining the smile in the angel’s tone.

“So get this,” Sam’s voice broke suddenly into Dean’s sleepy meandering thoughts just as the older hunter took a bite of his burger.

Dean shook himself out of his own head, focusing back to the present with an acknowledging grunt in his brother’s direction. Sam was peering at his open laptop with a perturbed expression.

“Breaking news out of Scottsbluff," He read aloud. "The Blue Mermaid Motel owner and manager, Victor Hishov was found dead in his office this morning following homicide by strangulation sometime in the early hours between 1 and 2 AM. The coroner report states that the victim's throat was crushed under such immense pressure that the vertebrae were shattered and the spinal cord was completely severed.”

“Sheesh.” Dean hissed before suddenly going still. “Hey didn’t we stay at that place on the way up here?”

“I think you’re right,” Sam affirmed, squirming to fish his wallet out of his pocket and produced a room key with the image of a mermaid in a blue shell laminated on the front, confirming his brother’s suspicion.

“Yeah, I remember the manager; pudgy dude, thick accent.” Dean thought out loud before sitting up a bit straighter, “Does it say anything else?”

“Yeah.” Sam replied before continuing, “None of the money or any valuables were taken so the police are unclear on motive. What could be salvaged from the security video footage shows the killer riding an unlicensed 1967 BSA Thunderbolt in the middle of a flash thunderstorm and entered the lobby where he exchanged words with the victim."

Dean gave a low whistle; he'd never stray from his baby, but that was a nice ass bike. “Woah, hold up. What do you mean ‘salvaged’?”

Sam briefly scanned down the rest article before huffing a disbelieving breath and turning the screen to face his brother. “Apparently the front windows of the motel lobby and every piece of electrical equipment in the place blew out all at once. Most of the footage on the tape was _melted inside the VCR_. Investigators think it was caused by a lightning strike."

"Woah." Dean used his less greasy hand to scroll down the screen a bit and pressed play on the accompanying video. "Looks like they have what was left of the video up here, take a look."

Sam maneuvered the screen again so they could both watch.

The footage was black and white and grainy--seriously, who used VHS tapes anymore?--but Dean could easily recognize the lobby. The assailant entered the screen from the bottom, having just walked in the front door directly under the camera. He still wore the helmet. Dean squinted at the dark figure. Though he still wore the helmet, there was something familiar in the slope and set of his black-coated shoulders. The hunter’s eyes flickered between the manager and the stranger, trying to discern their conversation through their body language alone. For a moment the pair just stood at the counter, then the stranger finally removed his helmet, and the manager suddenly jerked his hands up, palm out in the universal sign of surrender. Though his back remained facing the camera, more alarm bells went off in Dean's head as he took in the swath of messy dark hair curling around the assailant’s ears. Then the manager and stranger appeared to exchange more words before the stragnger suddenly vanished and the footage sputtered and burned out.

"Hold on," Sam spoke up, using the mouse to rewind the footage a few seconds before tapping a key to pause it just before it cut to black. "Look at that!"

The image frozen on-screen was full of static and lines, but behind it, Dean could just barely make out the bottom half of both figures at the top of the screen. Despite being on the opposite side of the counter only seconds before, the killer had the manager pinned several inches off the floor up against the wall. The speed with which he had moved was definitely not human. Dean stared hard at the computer screen, suddenly awake and alert despite his earlier exhaustion. He tried not to think about it too hard but he couldn’t shake the dread settling like a rock in the pit of his stomach. 

Then it hit him all once: the killer looked like Cas.

He’d been watching the angel long enough to know how he held himself and how he moved, could recognize it easily, even at a distance, and this guy moved like Cas with an accuracy that bordered on eery. Deciding that his desire to see Cas was getting crossed with his exhaustion and making him see things, Dean leaned back in his chair with a disgruntled grumble. 

"Dean, I think we should check it out," Sam told him seriously.

The sound that came from Dean after that was a full-on, petulant groan. "I'm getting too old for this back to back shit, Sammy."

Sam rebutted with a vexed bitch face. “Dude, seriously? We’d literally just be retracing our steps.”

Dean simply crossed his arms and leaned further away not unlike a stubborn child.

“Common man, you saw the footage, this has to be our kind of thing.” Sam continued, “Besides, don’t you think it's kinda strange that the owner died a supernatural death right after two hunters used his motel?”

“ _Allegedly_ supernatural death.” Dean corrected him, “So...what? You think something turned the tables and started hunting us?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Sam replied matter-of-factly. “But even if it isn’t, aren’t you even a little curious?”

“No Sam, I’m not. I’m tired, okay? I want my shower, I want my bed; we just came off a weekend teen ghost binge and I already told Cas we’d be back tomorrow.”

Shit, he hadn’t meant to say that last part. Oh well, it was out there now and if Sam thought it sounded weird, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he hit Dean with, “Well, what if it _is_ something after us. Do you really want to let that go? What if it kills someone else?”

Dean grit his teeth. Damn his little brother but the tactic worked as intended. If Dean was honest with himself, he _might be_ a little curious, but what’s more, he wasn’t about to let more people die on his account and Sam knew it, the bastard. With a long-suffering sigh, Dean finally acquiesced, “Alright fine. We’ll check it out, but--” He paused for effect, jabbing a finger in his brother’s direction, “--if it turns out to not be our thing, we go _home_ . You turn your phone off and just _sit there quietly_ until we get back. No more looking for cases or surprise police alerts, capiche?”

Sam visibly rolled his eyes but seemed satisfied with the compromise. “Fine.” He replied testily, before leveling his brother with a smug knowing look, “Sorry if this ruined your plans with Cas.”

Heat flooded Dean’s face but he didn’t give his brother the satisfaction of a response to that. Instead, he shifted his focus back to his food, ignoring the smirk still resting easily on his brother's face in his periphery. He was teasing like he always teased but it was harder to brush off the disappointment this time.

“Whatever.” He grumbled.

* * *

**  
  
  
**

Later that evening, after Sam had started snoring, Dean climbed out of bed, fished his phone from the pocket of his discarded jeans and slipped silently out of their room. The night air was warm on his bare legs as he padded down toward the vending machines in socked feet and boxers. With one hand he tugged absently at a thread sticking out from the hem of his undershirt, while the other flipped open the phone and scrolled through his contacts until Cas’s name was highlighted.

He hesitated with his thumb over the call button knowing that he was only delaying the inevitable. With a sigh, he tapped the button and brought the phone to his ear, praying that tomorrow brought them together as he’d planned, but knowing in his heart that they’d most likely be separated for a while still. 

The phone rang three times before cutting out and the angel's gravelly voice greeted him.

_“Hello, Dean”_

The hunter's heart leapt into his throat, unexpected emotion at hearing the familiar greeting stealing his voice. Damn, he was more tired than he thought.

_“Dean?”_ Cas repeated a bit more urgently when Dean didn’t respond right away, concern evident in his tone. _“Can you hear me? Are you alright?”_

"I--uh--yeah." The hunter stumbled lamely before clearing his throat. "Yeah, sorry man, m'fine, just tired."

The angel audibly sighed with a mixture of exasperation and relief, _“Then you should be resting.”_

The corner of Dean's mouth twitched into a small fond smile before instantly falling as he remembered why he'd called in the first place.

"Yeah I am--was--er--" He mentally kicked himself, "I mean, I will. I just needed to talk to you first."

There was a pause from the other end of the line before he heard what sounded like muffled footsteps and the click of a door shutting.

"Cas, you still there?"

_“Yes,"_ the angel replied. _"I moved to a more private location; Jack and I were playing dominos."_

"Oh." Dean intoned, a warm affectionate feeling blooming near his heart. “So you’re--uh--both you guys are doing alright on your own then?"

_“Yes,”_ Cas repeated, his voice mirroring the warmth Dean was feeling before falling a bit thinner. _“I...missed him very much.”_

Dean sadly noted the brittleness in his friend's tone but decided not to comment. “Good.” He replied instead, “That’s good.”

A tense silence stretched out between them while Dean floundered with his words.

_“What did you need to tell me?_ " Cas blessedly prompted.

There was no delicate way to break the news, Dean realized, so he just said it outright in a rush.

“Me and Sam aren’t going to be back tomorrow.” 

Another pause. 

_“Oh.”_

Dean heard the resounding disappointment in the single syllable that the angel was trying very hard to conceal.

“Yeah.” Dean continued, drawing out the word while rubbing guiltily at the back of his neck and pacing around in front of the vending machines. “We caught wind of another case. The manager of the last motel we stayed in before this one turned up dead. It might be our kinda thing so…”

_“This happened at your previous location?”_ Cas demanded. _“Where?”_

“Little town off westbound 26 called Scottsbluff. One of those places you miss if you blink.”

_“How long ago were you there?”_

“Three days. It was just an overnight pitstop on the way out here.”

_“What happened?”_

Normally the rapid-fire questions would have grated at his nerves, but this time they were making Dean’s head feel a little light and warm. Cas was clearly worried about him. It had been so long since either of them had felt anything other than animosity or disappointment with one another that he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t kind of...nice. 

Nice to be worried about. 

He shook himself out of it before answering. “Not sure exactly, but the vic was killed by something strong enough to crush his bones and sever his spinal cord all in one squeeze. There was some security camera footage available online but it didn’t show much. Just some guy that--” Dean shut his mouth with an audible click before he could say, ‘reminded me of you.’

_“That what?”_

“That--uh--that rolled in on a motorcycle. He had the whole get-up; leather jacket, helmet, gloves.” The hunter replied, proud of the save.

_“Do you have any idea who he could be?”_

“No idea. We’ll have to do some poking around first.”

There was another pause, this time a bit longer before Cas spoke again in a low, earnest tone. " _Do you need me to come to you? I could be there tomorrow morning."_

The hunter’s heart gave a sharp thump against his ribcage. It startled him how badly he wanted to say yes. It was on the tip of his tongue but then he thought about Cas and Jack playing dominos and bit it back. He couldn’t ask him to leave the kid behind so soon after he’d come back, not when the only real reason for Cas being here would be to satisfy Dean’s own selfish want to see him sooner.

“No man, it’s alright.” Dean finally replied, “Stay there and play some more games with the kid. We’ll wrap this up and be back before you know it.”

_“Very well.”_ Cas acquiesced, then in a softer voice, _“Dean--?”_

“Yeah?”

_“The last time we spoke, you told me that you wanted to take me somewhere and talk.”_

The hunter stilled his pacing and swallowed around the lump of anticipation in his throat. “Yeah.” He replied in a low gentle tone, as though he didn’t want anyone to overhear, “Yeah I did. Still do.”

_“Good. I look forward to it.”_

A small pang of pleasant surprise warmed the hunter’s cheeks. “That so?”

_“Yes.”_ Cas stated sincerely. _“I always enjoy our talks.”_ Once again the angel’s voice took on a sterner tone as he continued, _“Now, go rest.”_

“Sure thing bossy.” Dean chuckled, “I’ll update you when we know more.”

_“Of course.”_ A pause, then, _“Sleep well, Dean.”_

The warmth in the angel’s voice sent a shiver down Dean’s spine and he couldn’t resist the lopsided grin that pulled at his lips, “G’night Cas.”

After hanging up, Dean flipped his phone shut and twirled it a few times between his thumb and forefinger, feeling giddy and lighter than he had in a while. Cas wasn’t just waiting around for him to come back, he was _looking forward to it_. After a few minutes of silently freaking out about what that could mean, the hunter made his way back to the motel room.

Sam was still snoring noisily and drooling into his pillow when Dean returned. The older hunter shook his head fondly at the sight, tossing his phone onto his duffle bag as he passed it. Peeling the thin sheet and blanket back, Dean curled back into his own bed, squirming around until he finally settled on his back. He sighed at length to relax and sank into the mattress. 

He fell asleep with a smile still curling at the corners of his mouth.

* * *

**  
  
  
**

2 AM saw both the brothers fast asleep despite the thunder that rumbled overhead as a dark figure blinked into existence between flashes of lightning. It stood stone still between the window and Dean’s bed; watching. At some point in the night, the hunter had shifted onto his stomach, his head buried in his pillow facing the stranger now silhouetted against the closed curtains backlit by the dim glow of the motel sign and occasional flicker of lightning.

Expertly honed instincts alerted Dean to the presence before he was fully conscious, his hand groping blindly for the butt of the gun hidden beneath his pillow when a familiar voice whispered to him through the dark.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean stiffened in surprise before pushing himself up onto his elbows. He squinted at the face cloaked in shadow, just barely making out the glint of blue eyes in the dark.

“Cas, that you?” He muttered groggily, scrubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Yes.” The angel replied roughly, the single word saturated with such emotion it could have been a sob.

A red flag alarm went off in the hunter’s rebooting brain. He pushed himself all the way up and swung his feet over the side of the bed in one fluid motion. Sparing a brief glance at Sam to make sure he was still fast asleep, Dean stood and closed the space between him and the angel with two quick strides.

“You alright Cas?” Dean whispered urgently, his eyes still adjusting to the dark of the room trying to identify his friend’s expression but he was still too shrouded in shadow.

“I am now.” The angel finally replied. This time it was definitely a sob.

Then the dark silhouette of his friend moved forward and Dean was suddenly swept up in a tight, desperate embrace. He went completely rigid, heat prickling up the back of his neck and over his entire face. Cas pressed the entire length of his torso up against Dean’s. The hunter’s brain completely short-circuited when he felt Cas press his face into the crook of his neck, hot breath tickling the hollow of his throat.

“Cas?” Dean breathed distraught and uncertain. His hands hovered over the angel’s back indecisively before he swallowed thickly and slowly lowered them to rest against his shoulder blades. “Come on man, you're freaking me out. What’s going on?”

Cas didn’t back away. Instead, he spoke brokenly against the hunter’s throat where Dean could feel the dry brush of his lips over the skin there, “I’m sorry I just...I...missed you very much.”

The echo of Cas’s earlier words on the phone hit Dean hard, and before he could stop himself he was circling his arms firmly around the angel’s back, pulling him in tight against his chest. Cas grasped at him all the harder, his entire frame trembling beneath the hunter’s touch. Running with the sudden burst of courage, Dean turned his head and nuzzled into the angel’s hair.

“I--I missed you too, Cas.” 

The confession was little more than a whisper, but Dean knew the message had gotten across when he felt Cas’s fingers twist into the back of his shirt. They stood there wrapped up in one another for a few long minutes before Dean gently pulled at the angel’s shoulders to ease him back. He went with little resistance, but his head remained tipped forward, hiding his face. Dean bobbed his head in an attempt to catch the angel’s eyes. When it didn't work, he lifted his hand to tilt his chin up.

At that moment, a flash of lightning illuminated his face and the room around them.

Dean’s entire body froze stiff; he didn’t even breathe. 

He noticed the scars first, because how could he not? Angry dark lines cutting across otherwise pristine skin. He felt the absurd need to brush his fingers over them, not quite convinced they were real but was too overcome with shock to move.

“Cas…?” 

Cas’s face contorted into an expression of intense regret before Dean felt two cool fingers press against his temple.

“Forgive me.”

And the world went black.

**  
  
  
**


	2. Recon and Surveillance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank  
> [fhottfitzgerald!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhottfitzgerald/pseuds/fhottfitzgerald) for being an awesome beta reader and ALSO GIVING ME LIFE AND KEEPING ME GOING EVEN WHEN I'M BEING IMPOSSIBLE. We have been collaborating on some cosplay videos that go along with some of the story. You can find her AMAZING cosplay content [here!](http://vm.tiktok.com/Kbb5h1/) and my own [here!](http://vm.tiktok.com/KbcgCB) . 
> 
> HUGES THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO HAS BEEN GETTING STOKED ABOUT THIS PROJECT WITH ME.

Sam woke up to the dull and distant buzz of Dean’s cellphone. 

“Dean, your phone.” He groaned into his pillow, still half asleep. 

When he detected no movement from the other side of the room and the phone continued to buzz, he jerked his head up, his hair a wild mess stuck to the side of his cheek hovering above his pillow, “Dude, get your phone.”

Still no answer. 

Sam scrubbed his hair away from his face to better see, only for his eyes to fall on his brother’s empty bed. He jolted upright at the sight of the blanket tossed back and the sheets rumpled, but his brother nowhere to be seen

Swinging his long legs over the edge of the bed, Sam stood and made his way over to his brother’s phone still buzzing weakly on his duffle bag situated on one of the chairs near the table. He grabbed it and flipped it open as he scanned the rest of the room for Dean

“Hello?” Sam greeted groggily.

_“Sam?”_ Castiel’s voice sounded surprised on the other end of the line. 

“Oh, hey Cas. Yeah s’me, sorry. Think Dean’s in the bathroom.”

_“Oh, of course. Have you reached Scottsbluff?”_

“What?” Sam completely blanked, his head still fuzzy and sluggish from sleep. 

_“The motel where the manager was killed? Dean told me last night that you were going to stop there to investigate.”_

It dawned on Sam then, and he jerked the phone away from his face to look at the time; it was a quarter past ten. They should have left hours ago. Suddenly very aware something was amiss, Sam took a few steps toward the bathroom where he’d sleepily assumed Dean had been since he wasn’t in his bed. 

It was empty.

_“Sam? Hello? Are you there?”_

The small distant sound of Cas’s voice caught Sam’s attention and he realized that he’d left the angel hanging on the line. He brought the phone back up to his face as he hurried back across the room toward the front door. 

“Sorry Cas. We’re--uh--we’re still in Casper. I just...” Sam trailed off again as he opened the door to find the impala still sitting exactly where Dean had parked it the previous afternoon.

_"Sam what’s going on? Is everything alright?”_ Cas demanded.

“Um…” Sam closed the door, feeling like he should be freaking out, but finding that he was still feeling fuzzy and tired; like he’d been drugged. “Dean...Dean’s gone.”

_“What?!”_ Cas barked, completely taken aback.

“I just woke up to you calling…” Sam explained, dazed and swaying a bit on his feet. “... his bed’s empty but the car is still here.”

_“I’m heading there now, don’t go anywhere!”_ Cas stated.

“Wait Cas, hold on--” Sam was cut off by the whir of feathers behind him, and he turned around with the phone still on his ear to find Jack and an equally stunned Castiel standing in the center of the room.

“Hello Sam,” Jack greeted him, his typically bright expression drawn in concern. “We came to help you look for Dean.

Sam’s gaze bounced between them before he finally lowered the phone and flipped it shut. He raked his hand down his face, and scrubbed at his eyes in an attempt to clear his head, but it was like he was doused in a fog.

“Uh...wait. Wait, hold on.” Sam dropped onto the nearest bed, his shoulders slumping. “Something’s...something’s not right. I’m having trouble thinking straight…”

Jack came closer, squinting his eyes at the hunter as he examined him. “You just woke up?”

“Yeah,” Sam replied, shaking his shaggy head, “I was really out.”

“That is unusual for you.” Cas spoke up, also stepping forward and lifting his hand toward Sam, “May I?”

Sam nodded appreciatively as Cas pressed his fingers to his forehead, only to jerk them back a moment later as though he’d been burned. Sam blinked owlishly at him, not feeling any different. 

“What was that?” He asked.

“I--” Cas stared at him in wide eyed disbelief. “You were put to sleep with grace. I felt the echo of its presence in your mind but…”

“I feel it too.” Jack confirmed, though he was looking suspiciously around the room instead of at Sam. 

Cas reached for Sam once again, this time leaving his fingers hovering over the hunter’s skin instead of touching, his grace glowing sun bright for a few seconds before pulling away. Sam blinked the light induced spots from his vision, relief washing over him as the fog finally lifted and he felt more alert. 

“So, I was what, angel roofied?” Sam asked as he stood up, sounding perturbed by the notion.

“So it would seem.” Cas replied gruffly. “And it’s likely whoever put you to sleep is also the one who took Dean.”

“But why would an angel come for Dean now?” Jack asked. “I thought they were all staying in Heaven?”

“They are.” Cas affirmed. “I have sensed no angelic presence on earth for months.”

“Maybe one went rogue?” Sam suggested, “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“It’s possible.” Cas replied, but he didn’t sound convinced.

“Is there any way to tell who it is from the trace of energy you can sense?” Sam questioned.

“Sometimes, yes,” Jack replied, but sounded disappointed, “ but the signal is too weak here; whoever it is was only here very briefly. Maybe a few minutes before they left.”

Sam nodded along as he turned once again to appraise his brother’s bed before he inhaled sharply as something struck him.

“Cas, you said Dean called you last night right?”

The angel went rigid, and Sam swore he saw his face darken just a tinge before he nodded in affirmation. “Yes. He called at 12:13 AM to let me know about the case in Scottsbluff.”

“Did he seem out of character or say anything strange?” Sam probed further, “Before you guys got here it felt like I was in a daze, not able to think clearly. If an angel worked their mojo on me, they might have worked it on him too.”

Cas thought back to their conversation, replaying it over in his mind, searching for any indication that Dean had been manipulated or under duress of any sort. In the end, it was the personal nature of their dialogue that convinced him.

“No.” Cas stated firmly, “He was himself.”

“Damn,” Sam cursed before gesturing to the bed and accompanying personal effects. “So he talked to you, then came back to bed, but judging by the state of everything, there was no struggle and…” He trailed off for a moment as he moved to the side of the bed and tossed Dean’s used pillow to the side, finding his gun still laying there. He scooped it up and checked the clip to confirm his suspicion. “Yeah, full clip still. If Dean woke up to a random angel in our room, all hell would have broken loose.”

“He _is_ a light and angry sleeper.” Cas confirmed with a serious nod, “Even an angel would have difficulty sneaking up on him.”

“Maybe it was someone he recognized?” Jack suggested. 

“Unfortunately if Dean recognized another angel, it would likely be because they had tried to kill him in the past.” Cas frowned in response.

Sam growled in frustration, tossing the gun into his brother’s duffle bag. “I don’t get it, why now? We haven’t messed with Heaven or any angels in a while. Everything has been relatively quiet, even Chuck--” He paused, turning wide concerned eyes to Cas. “--unless, you don’t think it _was_ Chuck?”

“No,”Jack interjected. “I don’t know which one, but I’m certain it was an angel. My grandfather would have left a much different, and much more powerful energy signature.”

Sam deflated once again, raking his fingers through his hair. “ _Damn_.” He cursed again, the beginnings of panic edging into his voice. 

“What about the death you were going to investigate?” Jack inquired off handedly, before addressing Cas. “You said it was in a location Sam and Dean had previously stayed the night. Do you think it could be linked?”

Sam’s head shot up, beaming at the kid like he’d said the magic words. “That’s right!”

He then proceeded to fill them both in on all the details he knew as he tore around the room collecting all of their belongings and packing up. The pair listened attentively, and assisted Sam in bringing everything to the impala. When it was all said and done, Sam hovered near the driver’s side door and fussed around with the car keys.

“So we agree then?” He asked, his expression anxious as the earlier adrenaline began to ebb and suffocating worry began to sink it’s claws into him. “We go check out this Victor Hishov guy, and see if something really was following us?”

“It’s the logical next step” Cas asserted, “His death is too strange and too sequential to Dean’s disappearance to be a coincidence.” 

“And if we can detect an echo of grace there too, then we’ll know without a doubt that it’s connected. Maybe we’ll even find another clue!” Jack chimed in eagerly. “I could use my powers to--”

“No,” Cas interrupted firmly, “No more powers.”

“But--” Jack tried to argue, but Cas cut him off again with a stern expression that could only be described as fatherly.

“You already took too great a risk when you transported us here.”

Sam nodded in agreement, “Cas is right, Jack. Chuck might not be involved in this, but he _will be_ if he catches on that you’re alive because you’re zapping us around the country.

“We’ll ride with Sam in the impala. Scottsbluff is less than three hours away.” Cas insisted, dropping a reassuring hand onto Jack’s shoulder.

“And I’ll make it in two.” Sam assured him with a tight smile.

For a moment it looked as though the young man would argue further but after briefly meeting his father’s eyes, he seemed to deflate. He then shifted his eyes to Sam and nodded once in acceptance.

“You’re right,” He admitted, “I’m sorry.”

Cas gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze, “We’ll find him.”

With a final nod, Jack moved away toward the back driver’s side door. Sam met Cas’s eyes over the roof as the angel made his way around to the passenger door.

_We’ll find him._

As they slid into the car, neither were sure who they were trying to convince more; Jack, or themselves.

**  
  
**

* * *

**  
  
  
**

Dean was languidly stretched out on his stomach with his arms curled securely around his pillow when he began to make a slow ascent into consciousness, for once too warm and comfortable to rush the process of waking. His senses came back online one at a time and he made a mental note to leave an excellent review for this motel. The mattress, the pillow, even the sheets and comforter, were all softer than he remembered them being before he fell asleep. He emphasised this by hugging the luscious pillow closer and pressing his face further into it. 

The rich aroma of fresh coffee and savory bacon hit him next, making his stomach tense and rumble; when had he eaten last? Sammy must have been up and out already; the kid was a saint. If he were to go on smell alone he could almost believe he was back at the bunker anticipating a full homemade breakfast waiting for him in the kitchen.

Something warm and fond swelled in his chest as he envisioned the scene; Sam manning the stove, and Cas grumpily sipping at a cup of coffee at the dining table while Jack twittered away over some sugary cereal. 

After fully absorbing that fantasy, Dean felt a renewed sense of urgency to get back to the bunker, and so it was with a final satisfying stretch of his limbs that the hunter finally blinked open his blurry, tired eyes. 

Across from him a large picture window with tastefully drawn sheer curtains looked out over an unfamiliar forested landscape. Suddenly awake and alert, Dean threw the blanket back, disentangled himself from the sheets, and sat bolt upright, his heart jackhammering in his chest. The chill outside the warm cocoon of the comforter was enough to raise goosebumps on his skin, and he looked down for the first time to find that he was still clad only in the thin black undershirt and pair of boxer briefs he’d worn to bed.

He slowly lifted his gaze back up, trying to calm himself down as he scanned his immediate surroundings. The picture window was the only window in the room, but it stretched over the entire wall, flooding the surrounding room in natural light. 

The room was cabin-like, the floor, the walls, even the bed frame all rich aged wood while directly across from him a small fireplace stood out in slate grey cobblestone. All the materials inside were matched in rich cool palettes that fit the misty coniferous scenery outside the window. 

As if just remembering, Dean twisted back around and shoved his hand beneath his pillow in search of his gun. When he couldn’t feel it immediately, he scrambled to his feet and completely overturned the bed spread, stripping off the comforter and tossing the pillows to the floor. It wasn’t there.

Fuck. _Fuck._ He was in an unfamiliar location without a weapon. _Fantastic_.

Now that he was vertical, Dean cautiously made his way over to the window, drawing the sheer curtains back to better assess the area outside. If he hadn’t been so amped up on not knowing where he was, the sight would have been beautiful; a mountainous coniferous landscape laden with heavy mist. Even the rolling grey sky above didn’t seem to diminish the view. It was so close to peaceful Dean toyed with the notion that he’d been sucked into another Jinn induced fantasy.

A soft clatter of noise from somewhere else in the house caught the hunter’s attention and he jerked away from the window to eye the door across the room. He was struck once again by the smell of coffee and bacon and his stomach growled despite himself. 

_I’m not alone. Damnit,_ he thought angrily. There was only one way to figure out what was going on, and he was not looking forward to facing a potential threat without a weapon. Dean released a breath through gritted teeth as he padded barefoot across the chilly wood floor to the door. Cautiously, and as silently as he could, he turned the handle and poked his head out of the room.

Outside he discovered a short hallway. To the left, it ended abruptly with another large window that looked out over more misty forest. To the right, the tastefully decorated ashen wood walls housed a few other doors before opening up into something like a balcony. 

Unable to see what lay beyond that from the room, Dean stepped out and slowly made his way down the hall. He tried each door he passed, finding a linen closet behind one and behind the other, a luxurious bathroom whose cobblestone walls and floor matched that of the earlier fireplace. When he reached the spot where the hallway wall opened up, his eyes widened into saucers.

The first thing to strike him were the two story windows taking up the entire front of the house that looked out over the breathtaking view of a dark freshwater lake, and more mountainous forest beyond it. Blinking rapidly to clear is vision lest he was seeing things, Dean lowered his gaze to the room below. 

It was a picturesque family room, complete with dark leather couches and sleek modern lights. Another, larger, grey stone fireplace occupied the wall to the right framed by two thinner but equally tall windows. The air out there on the balcony overlooking the room was substantially warmer thanks to the billowing fire crackling cheerfully behind the silver grate.

The sound of clattering flatware snapped Dean out of his stunned appraisal. Instantly back on high alert, Dean cast his gaze around for anything that could be potentially used to defend himself until his eyes fell on a simple, sleek candle holder situated on a small side table near the mouth of the stairs to the left. He tip-toed over to it, and breathed a calming sigh of relief when he grasped it’s solid weight in his fist.

Without further ado, he began to ease himself down the stairs, the candle holder raised and ready to strike should someone or something surprise him.

The stairs bottomed out in an high ceilinged atrium. The front door stood about ten feet directly in front of him, obstructed by a circular island table and decorative plant. The right opened up into the sitting room he’d seen from above, while the left led into a quaint dining area whose back wall was lined with more doors, and front wall displayed more of those ostentatious multi-story windows. Dean stepped carefully around the dining table in the center of the room that looked as though it might be more at home in a viking hall than a cabin in the woods.

Ahead of him, just beyond the end of the table, an elegant archway fed into what Dean assumed to be the kitchen and as he neared, the sizzle of something cooking in a pan became audible, the smell of coffee and food became richer. The hunter saddled up next to the right side of the archway, candle held drawn up close to his chest as he breathed evenly through his nose in preparation to face whoever he could hear shuffling around in there. 

Then something strange happened.

He noticed for the first time the soft lilt of music and sound of someone humming along in time.

The sound was unmistakably masculine; deep and rich and...familiar.

His grip on the candle holder loosened as the gentle humming gave way to words;

_“Believe it or not, I’m walkin’ on air. I never thought I could feel so free, flyin’ away on a wing and prayer. Who could it be? Believe it or not, it’s just me.”_

Dean slowly leaned around the corner, holding his breath as his eyes fell on a man situated in front of a gleaming stainless steel stove on the other side of the spacious kitchen.

_“Just like the light of a new day, it hit me from out of the blue. Breakin’ me out of the spell I was in, makin’ all of my wishes come true.”_

The stranger swayed minutely to the melody with one hand still gripping the handle of the pan he was handling, the other holding aloft an expensive looking spatula. A breakfast bar and countertop island separated them, but even from the distance, Dean felt an unmistakable pang of recognition.

_“Believe it or not, I’m walkin’ on air. I never thought I could feel so free, flyin’ away on a wing and prayer. Who could it be? Believe it or not, it’s just me.”_

Dean approached slowly, silently, something about this stranger tugging at a fuzzy memory in his head. 

_“This is too good to be true. Look at me...falling for you.”_

Dean halted before the bar as the lyrics faded into the final strums of the melody, and the man turned around with the hot pan in hand. 

Piercing blue met warm green.

Then it all came back in a rush; waking up in the motel, embracing his friend, then…

The candle holder clattering to the floor shattered the stillness, causing the stranger with Cas’s face to jump, nearly dropping the steaming pan in his hand.

“Cas…?” Dean unwittingly echoed his last word before he’d lost consciousness the night before.

“Dean!” The imposter exclaimed, “I--I didn’t realize you were awake!”

Dean stayed stunned speechless for all of a second before he bolted back the way he’d come.

The shouted words “Dean!” and “Wait!” echoed in the hunter’s ears as he rounded the corner back into the dining room, but he didn’t stop. Realizing belatedly that he’d left the candle holder behind, Dean’s eyes darted wildly around for anything else to use as a weapon. He leaped swiftly through the atrium, thundering into the sitting room before skidding to a halt when he caught sight of the back wall.

He was once again stunned into inaction.

The entire wall below the balcony was decorated in...weapons. _His weapons._ His eyes flickered from his dad’s twelve gauge, to his own hand crafted blade from purgatory, and then further to several varieties of angel blades, machetes and other familiar weaponry. 

His breath came shorter, shallower, as he backed away from the wall, not seeing the small step down into the recessed lounge area near the fireplace. 

Where the hell _was_ he?

When his last step hit open air, Dean teetered back, arms flying out in an attempt to catch his balance as he stumbled over his own feet and fell, _hard,_ striking his head against the edge of the solid coffee table below.

The world once again, went black.

* * *

**  
  
  
**

They had stopped briefly at a gas n sip somewhere along highway 26 so Sam and Jack could change into suits, but it was just a short time later when he was pulling into a parking space in front of the Scottsbluff police department. 

“Okay.” He said, handing the keys off to Cas. “I’m going to head inside and ask around for some info. You and Jack go check out the Blue Mermaid and meet me back here in an hour or so.”

“Alright.” Cas agreed, taking the offered keys and sliding over the drivers side as Sam exited the car.

The younger Winchester watched as the impala backed out and drove off out of sight before he turned swiftly and strode up to the station. Inside he was greeted by a clean faced young man at the front desk with a courteous, “Hello, sir. Can I help you?”

Sam returned the smile with a nod of greeting, flashing his FBI badge. “Yeah, hi. Agent Scholtz. I’m here looking into the death of Victor Hishov.”

The young officer’s eyes bulged comically, “Oh, y-yes sir!” He stammered with a fumbling salute. “I’ll get the sheriff right away!”

Sam gave the kid a tight lipped nod before watching him flit off further into the station. All around him pairs of seasoned eyes cautiously scrutinized him until a small commotion from the back of the station drew everyone’s attention, including Sam’s.

Loud words were heard in the back most office before the young officer scampered back out into the station proper and waved Sam over. The hunter quickly strode between the desks to meet him.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, sir.” He told him urgently. “Sheriff Briggs will see you just--” The kid dropped his voice into a whisper. Sam leaned forward a bit to hear him mutter, “--take it slow. He’s a bit on edge after what happened. 

“Right. Thanks for the heads up.” Sam nodded in understanding before stepping passed the kid and striding over to the Sheriff’s office.

He rapped his knuckles on the glass marked BRIGGS once before a gruff voice from within barked, “Come in!”

Sam stepped inside and the Sheriff rose to greet him, extending his hand over his desk. The hunter shook it firmly, “Sheriff Briggs, Agent Scholtz.”

“Good to meet you, agent. Wish it were under better circumstances.

Briggs was a large, middle aged man with a barrel chest and scruffy salt and pepper beard. He looked like the sort of man you could sit down and have a beer with, even if his face was currently etched into an anxious scowl.

“You and me both.” Sam replied good naturedly before they both took a seat.

“I was wondering when I would see one of you boys down here.”

Sam raised his brows in surprise, “You were...expecting me?”

“Well, when it turns out a stone cold murder in your quiet little town isn’t the first of it’s kind, yeah. Didn’t you get a brief?”

Sam’s lips twitched minutely before he replied, “That was one long drive ago Sheriff. Would you mind giving me a quick summary?”

The older man eyed him for a moment before leaning back in his chair with a nod.

“Three days ago, a local business owner by the name of Victor Hishov was found strangled and broken in his motel lobby. He hit the wall so hard it cracked the brick and broke his back and that’s not even mentioning his neck--”

“Right.” Sam interjected. “Broken neck and severed spinal cord.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” Briggs visibly shuddered. “The poor bastard’s throat was just a sack of meat and bone fragments by the time we got to him. All the skin around his throat was _burned_ \--”

“Wait, what?!” Sam interrupted, taken aback. “Burned?”

“Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen.” Briggs continued. “It was like the devil himself reached out of hell and crushed the life out of the guy.”

Sam visibly tensed at the description; an image of Lucifer immediately jumping to mind. He pressed a thumb into the center of his scarred hand where it rested in his lap out of habit. If the Sheriff noticed his sudden withdrawal, he didn’t mention it. Instead he continued his summary.

“Nothing was stolen, so robbery wasn’t the motive. Hishov’s shotgun was still fully loaded under the counter, so if there was a struggle at all, he wasn’t able to get to it before...well.” He paused, briefly running a hand over his beard before he leaned forward, crossing his arms over the desk. “We got a little bit of security footage, but it’s next to useless. Had to have our tech guys salvage what they could but the tape was _melted_ into the goddamn VCR.”

“That’s right,” Sam affirmed, “I remember the brief mentioning a flash thunderstorm frying the equipment.”

The Sheriff shook his head, “Nothing like any storm damage I’ve ever seen. Every lightbulb, monitor screen, and window in the place was completely shattered. All the wiring was _charred black_. It’s a miracle the place didn’t go up in flames.”

“Storms that intense happen here often?”

“This time of year? Never.” Briggs answered flatley. “Guests who were staying there reported that it was so violent that the floor was shaking like an earthquake.”

“I don’t suppose any of those guests happened to get a look at the killer?”

“Not a guest, but one of the maids, Katarina Ivanovna, was doing laundry just down the hall from the lobby, heard voices and saw the whole thing go down. Poor woman must have been scared out of her mind because the description she gave didn’t make a lick of sense.”

Sam sat up a bit straighter. “How do you mean?”

Briggs rang his hands over the desk, looking like he was trying to find the right words. “She gave a vague description of a man with black hair and, her words, _‘shockingly blue eyes’._ She also described him wearing a bike helmet and black leather, which was corroborated by the video footage. But then…” He trailed off briefly, like he was preparing himself for what he was about to say. When he finally spoke again, Sam could tell he was trying to remain neutral despite his own skepticism. “She said he was an ‘angel of death’. Wouldn’t stop ranting about seeing black wings and holy light. Then she claimed she saw his eyes ‘flash ghost white’ right before all the glass and equipment exploded.”

Sam sat stock still, barely even breathing as he absorbed everything the sheriff was saying.

“She’s an old world russian house maid.” Briggs went on, “She and her daughter , Sonia, work--worked--for Hishov for years. Very religious and _very_ superstitious. The shock of witnessing a murder obviously crossed some wires.”

“Obviously,” Sam parrotted. “I’ll need to talk to Mrs. Ivanovna.”

“Of course, one of my boys will get you the file.” Briggs agreed. 

“And I’d like to see the body.” Sam continued.

Briggs nodded along. “Did you need a ride to the coroner’s office?”

“Actually, yes. My partner took the car over to the motel already to take a look around.”

“You boys move quick.” Briggs observed, but didn’t linger on it. Instead he reached for his desk phone, brought the receiver to his ear, and pressed the call button. “Evan? Get a squad car around to take Agent Scholtz over to the coroner's office. Asap.”

After Briggs hung up, Sam addressed him again. “Sheriff, earlier you mentioned that this wasn’t the first death of its kind; how many have there been?”

Briggs nodded somberly, “Just the one here in town, small blessings. The others have all been scattered between here and Kansas.”

Sam bulked at the statement, “Kansas?”

The Sheriff lifted one dark brow, “This guy has crossed state lines; isn’t that why the feds are here in the first place?”

Sam reigned himself back in. “Y--yeah. That’s right. Sorry. We--uh--we got sent out in pairs. My partner and I were assigned to Scottsbluff.”

After a small pause, Briggs slowly nodded. “Makes sense I guess, cover more ground with more eyes.”

Sam breathed a sigh of relief that he bought it, before continuing. “Where did the first killing take place?”

“Killing? Far east from here; town called Hastings.”

At first, Sam tensed up and swallowed hard--they’d stopped at a gas station in Hastings--but then something Briggs had said struck him as odd.

“You specified that Hastings was the location of the first death, but you said earlier that the cases were scattered from here to Kansas. What happened in Kansas?”

“The perp must have gotten cold feet. Vic was a young guy in a town just south of the border with Nebraska called Lebanon. Said he came across a man fitting the killer’s description trying to break into an old prep bunker just outside the city limits. Called him out, got into a scuffle, but the guy took off on his bike before the kid could call the police.”

Sam’s heart kicked started; this guy had been to the bunker?!

“What’s the timeline?”

“No offense Agent, but I only have so much information regarding other cities' cases.” Briggs told him firmly. “Maybe your colleagues assigned there could tell you more.”

“Right, of course.” Sam hastened to agree. “Apologies Sheriff, I guess I got a little ahead of myself.”

“No need, son” Briggs waved him off, “We’re all more than ready to get this whole situation in the rearview, you understand me?”

“Absolutely,” Sam affirmed before making one last respectful request. “Could I ask you for one more thing?”

“I’m at your service, Agent.”

“Could I get a map with all the cities hit by this guy?” When the Sheriff gave him a questioning look, Sam was quick to add, “For on hand reference? My partner left with our copy.”

“You boys ought to think of things like that before you split up.” Briggs advised sagely, but he nodded all the same. “I’ll have it drawn up and put in the case file ready to go when you get back from the coroner’s office”

Sam stood then,“Thank you for all your help Sheriff.”

Briggs stood as well, and took Sam’s outstretched hand once again, giving it a firm shake. “Anytime, agent. Now, forgive me for saying so, but may our paths never cross again.”

The hunter’s lips twitched into a small rueful smile, “You and me both, sir.”

Sam took his leave of the office, his mind a whirlwind with all the new information he’d become privy to, chiefly; this guy had been to the bunker. It was such a shock that Sam nearly walked face first into the young officer from the service desk as he exited Brigg’s office.

“Oh, sorry sir!” The kid--Evan, Sam recalled absently--squeaked, taking a few steps back. “Sheriff Briggs asked me to be ready with a squad car.”

“Right,” Sam replied distractedly, “Lead the way officer.”

A few short minutes later, the pair were sliding into an old beat up police car behind the station. As Evan backed out of the space and pushed off toward the road an uncomfortable and tense silence fell over the cabin, making Sam’s fingers twitch. In his periphery he caught the young man glancing repeatedly at him, his expression anxious, when finally the hunter had had enough.

“There something on your mind, officer?” He asked.

Evan’s attention snapped to the road so fast the entire car swiveled to the left.

“N-no sir!” Evan stammered quickly before adding, “W-well I mean--that is t-to say--uh--”

“No need to be so nervous.” Sam assured him, feeling a bit awkward as he added what he hoped was a firm, “Speak freely.”

That seemed to be enough to open the flood gates.

“Thank you sir!” Evan responded with a grateful huff of breath. “Please excuse my--uh--nerves. I’m new to the force, just finished my training a few weeks ago. I’d never been in the field before...before--”

Sam felt instant sympathy for the kid. “You responded to the call?”

“Me’n my partner, yeah.” Evan replied shakily, “It was Sonia--er--Miss Ivanovna--who called it in. Her mother was in hysterics in the background, but she spoke quiet and calm. She’s been like that ever since I’ve known her; I swear nothing ever ruffles that girl’s bonnet.”

Sam detected more than a hint of awestruck affection, but he didn’t comment. Instead he asked, “What can you tell me about Mrs. Ivanovna and her daughter’s relationship to Mr. Hishov? Would they have any reason to exaggerate or lie about any of the details they told police?”

“Lie?!” Evan parroted incredulously, casting Sam a look that bordered on scornful. “Mrs. Ivanovna is a good woman! A little off the deep end with the religious stuff, but neither she, or Sonia would lie about something like this!”

“Sorry,” Sam apologized immediately, “I misspoke. I wasn’t calling their character into question. I’m just trying to understand how something like this could happen, looking at it from all angles, understand?”

Evan nodded a bit sheepishly, his cheeks tinged slightly pink. “O-of course sir, my apologies. It’s just those poor ladies have been through the grinder. Mr. Hishov wasn’t their family, at least I don’t think so, but he took care of them and the way he died…”

“I understand.” Sam tried to sooth him. “Is there anything else you can tell me about them before I go to them directly?”

“Mrs. Ivanovna is a soft spoken lady. Kind, but easily overwhelmed. Sonia spent nearly the entire time the authorities were there consoling her. Unfortunately she’s the only one who saw the killer’s face. Sonia will likely be the one you talk to when you go over there. She's sharper than she looks so don't treat her like she's made of glass."

Sam couldn't help the curl at the corner of his mouth: the kid spoke with a certainty that insinuated that he had experience dealing with the aftermath of doing just that.

"I'll keep that in mind."

As their conversation ended, Evan pulled into the mostly empty parking lot of a large, single story grey brick of a building.

“Thanks for the ride,” Sam said through a tight lipped smile as he moved to vacate the car. He paused at the nose of the car when Evan moved to follow suit, “Uh...officer?”

At Sam’s questioning tone, Evan shot him something like a look of foreboding that made the hunter slightly apprehensive.

“Gretchen.” Is all the young man said before he strode passed the hunter toward the entrance.

Sam opened his mouth to say something to the effect of, ‘ Thanks, but I can handle it’ but Evan was already moving to open the entry door. Shaking it off, Sam trotted up the cement path to catch up.

Inside directly across from the main entrance was a clerical window situated next to a mag lock security door. A bored looking young woman with too much eyeliner sat slumped over a magazine loudly chewing gum. She didn't greet them or even lift her head as they approached and Sam suddenly felt a little more appreciation for Evan's enthusiasm.

Sam looked to Evan then only to find the young officer’s face more set and authoritative than he had seen since meeting him. Without acknowledging the hunter’s bewildered expression, he puffed out his chest and knocked sharply on the plexiglass divider, "Gretchen! I’m here with Agent Scholtz for the Hishov case.”

Sam’s lips twitched at the more pronounced depth of his tone, and had to look away completely to school his face when this ‘Gretchen’ seemed to be completely unphased by his presence, her heavily lined eyes rolling lazily up toward him.

She popped her gum at him as if to emphasize her indifference, before her eyes slid over to Sam.

"You the fed?" She asked.

Evan all but sputtered with indignation and Sam had to mentally check himself so he didn't crack the fed persona before he replied with a polite, "Yes ma’am."

She looked him over once, completely ignoring Evan who was silently fuming to Sam’s left, before finally sitting up straight. The hunter had never seen anyone make such an insignificant lateral movement look like such a chore. "Got I.D.?" 

“Gretchen!” Evan hissed, more offended for Sam than the hunter was for himself, “I’m here escorting him, he’s obviously legitimate.”

Sam remained resolutely silent during the exchange despite his increasing duress.

Gretchen rolled her eyes back to Evan with an apathetic sigh, “It’s policy, Adams.” Evan’s entire face contorted when she popped another bubble at him for emphasis before turning back to address Sam. “So. Agent. I.D.?”

Sam flipped the badge open probably a bit too quickly but he sorely needed to vacate the stifling testion between these two young people. Appeased, Gretchen knocked her fist into a large yellow button on the wall beside her station. There was a resounding buzz before the magnetic locks on the door in the entryway released. Evan threw the young woman another scathing glare before trotting over and holding the door open for Sam.

Much to Sam’s chagrin, Gretchen met them in the hallway beyond the door, hip cocked, arms crossed, and popping her gum. 

“Dr. Mathews left already but I’ll show you where the old guy is being refrigerated.”

Evan bristled, “You should show some respect! Mr. Hishov was a good man and what happened to him shouldn’t be taken so lightly!”

Gretchen lifted her brow at him, unimpressed, “You’re just saying that because you have the hots for his cleaning lady.”

Sam watched in real time as Evan’s face splotched multiple shades of red. The hunter shuffled his feet between the two with his hand fumbling in his pockets before he could finally take the awkwardness no more and cleared his throat.

“Uh, Gretchen?” He tried as delicately as possible, “Would you mind leading the way?”

She cast a smug smirk Evan’s way before pushing off the wall and gesturing for them to follow.

A few minutes later, the three of them were hovering over Victor Hishov’s body on the cold pull out table. Sam had donned gloves for a closer inspection while Gretchen looked on, her face more interested and lively than it had been for the duration of their encounter. Evan stood back a ways, keeping his eyes averted by pretending to examine some of the medical tools on a nearby counter.

“Freaky, right?” Gretchen piped up. Sam glanced up for the first time to find her face hovering over Hishov’s torso just a few inches away from his own, and immediately straightened up.

“Definitely strange.” Sam replied somberly, though he had seen far stranger.

“Check this out.” She commented with a note of giddiness as she reached her own gloved hands toward the cadaver’s chin. With little effort due to the state of Hishov’s neck, she was able to tilt his head back to reveal what Sam recognized instantly as the burn mark Briggs had mentioned. His eyes widened as he took in the shape.

It was a hand print.

“Freaky, right?” She said with a knowing look at Sam’s stunned expression. “It’s like a brand. Dr. Mathews thinks it's some sort of calling card because handprints like this were found on some other bodies east of here.”

Sam barely registered her words as he tossed his gloves and fished his phone out of his breast pocket. He held up his finger at Evan to wait when the young man tried to follow as the hunter strode a few paces away, dialing Cas. The phone rang just once before the angel answered.

_“Sam,”_ Cas greeted stoically, _“What have you found?”_

“Vic is all bone fragments and loose meat.” Sam replied warily, “Blue face, swollen tongue, and bloody eyes definitely points to strangulation, but Cas there’s...” Sam glanced at Evan and Gretchen, seeing that they were distracted in tense conversation, before finishing, “...there was a hand print burned into his throat.”

The silence on the other end of the line was telling in that Sam was sure Cas was thinking the same thing.

“It looks like--” Sam began, but Cas cut him off.

_“Don’t,”_ The angel’s voice sounded almost pained before he promptly changed the subject. _“Jack was able to sense the presence of grace more acutely here at the motel. It would seem that the killing, the structural damage, and even the storm itself, was all caused by the same angel.”_

“Any idea who it is?”

_“No.”_ Cas growled, clearly frustrated. _“Whoever is doing this is either very careful, or they are warded against detection as I am. I have reached out to Heaven, but there are no angels who have been unaccounted for.”_

“Do you believe that?” Sam asked earnestly, “You’re sure they’re not lying just to mess with us? It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve gone after Dean.”

_“There are far too few of them left to waste their resources on what would surely be a lost cause for them.”_ Cas replied and Sam believed him.

After a moment of deliberation, Sam spoke again, “Alright, I’m going to head back to the station and grab the file. We’ve got one more place to stop.”

_“We’ll meet you there.”_ Cas confirmed, before hanging up.

Sam flipped his phone shut in kind, before turning back to Evan and Gretchen, only to find them standing several feet apart in complete silence. Gretchen had since rolled Hishov back into the refrigerator and now sat tapping away on her phone, while Evan appeared a bit green around the gills where he was keeping a post near the door. After a brief glance between the two, Sam moved toward Evan, motioning at him to catch his attention.

The young man jumped at the distraction, snapping to attention. “Yessir?”

“Uh--” Sam was taken aback by the overly loud response. “My partner is going to meet me back at the station so we should get going. ”

“Absolutely.” Evan replied almost gratefully.

Gretchen followed after them, and though she didn't say anything, Sam felt her presence almost like a cold spot. When he'd first arrived, he was blind sided by Evan's obvious distaste for her, but now after experiencing her first hand, even briefly, the hunter understood.

They finally reached the entry door and Sam was about to push it open to freedom when Gretchen's apathetic voice bubbled up from behind her plexy glass window.

"Don't forget to stop and check in on poor little _Sonia._ " She drawled in what was clearly mock concern. "God forbid she were to get faint without Evan there to fan her with a handkerchief."

Evan was obviously about to rise to the bait, but Sam had officially had enough of whatever this school yard ‘I hate you but have a thing for you’ nonsense was that was going on between them, and quite unceremoniously shoved the young man out the door.

The silence on the car ride back was awkward and uncomfortable. Sam caught Evan turning to speak to him on more than one occasion only to think better of it and this time, the hunter didn't prompt him for more. 

The moment the car parked, Sam was such a flurry of long limbs as he scrambled to escape the uncomfortable interior that he nearly collided directly with Jack who had come over from across the road to meet him.

As Evan rounded the nose of the squad car, he and Jack both seemed to notice one another at the same time and in perfect unison chirped a friendly, "Hello there!". While Jack lifted his hand in a wave, Evan extended his to a shake, and for a second both froze, then quickly switched, before the entire interaction devolved into laughter.

The younger men seemed to become instant friends, chattering away about their respective involvement in the case while Castiel made his way across the road to meet Sam near the back of the car. Sam couldn’t help but smile at the pair, shaking his head at their exchange. It fell as he turned to see the angel’s sullen expression.

While Sam had stayed out of his brother’s business for the general harmony of their group, he wasn’t stupid. Dean was the angel’s very best friend, his family; but he was also something neither of the men had ever named.

“How are you holding up?” Sam asked sincerely.

“I’m fine.” Cas snapped in a manner that was more Dean-like than Sam had ever heard from him, before the angel’s face softened just a bit and added, “Thank you for asking.” 

“We’re zeroing in on this.” Sam told him with a tight smile. “He’s gonna be fine Cas.”

A muscle in the angel’s jaw jumped as he visibly tensed, averting his eyes. In place of an acknowledgment he asked, “What’s next?”

“We need to talk to the witness who saw the killer’s face.” Sam replied. “Mrs. Ivanovna.”

“Officer Adams will escort us there once he comes back out with the case file!” Jack interjected, coming to stand near his father. “He seems very worried about the physical state of a girl named Sonia.” His head tilted just a fraction in thought before continuing, “I think he might have romantic feelings for her.”

Sam recoiled at the announcement, recalling the earlier exchange with Gretchen, and was about to voice his protest when Evan himself came trotting back down the entryway and over the curb to address them.

“Here’s that file for you Agent Scholtz and--Oh!” He touched a finger to his hat and nodded in Cas’s direction. “--forgive me, I didn’t catch your name, Agent…?”

“Dolp.” Cas replied authoritatively. “And you, Officer Adams, were going to escort us?”

Evan straightened up, clearly responding to Castiel’s command. “Yessir,” He stated, “I’ll lead the way.”

The trio piled back into the impala while Evan got back behind the wheel of his squad car, and they were off once again.

The Ivanovna homestead was a quaint little cottage a few miles outside the main town, situated at the end of a long winding dirt drive carved out of the prairie in the shadow of a monolithic stone plateau. Dust kicked up and plumed behind both cars as they made their way along the grass lined path, passing by long stretches of fenced off pasture dotted here and there with clusters of cattle.

Evan pulled up just outside the front porch and he was stepping out from the driver’s side door and up toward the house as Sam rolled up and parked alongside the cruiser. By the time the three of them had exited the impala and made their own way up to the porch, Evan was already chatting pleasantly with a pretty young woman with straight straw blonde hair and large soulful brown eyes. Her attention shifted to them as they came to address her.

“Hello, uh, Miss Ivanovna?” Sam greeted her, reaching inside his jacket for his badge, but she lifted a hand to stop him.

“Call me Sonia, please. Evan has told me who you are Agent Scholtz and--” She began sweetly . her voice dusted with a hint of an accent, before leaning to one side to address Cas and Jack in kind where they had kept a small distance behind Sam, perched on the stairs. “--Agents Dolp and Paxton?”

“Yes, hello Sonia.” Jack greeted in kind, “I understand now why Officer Adams is so interested in you. You’re very pretty.”

Both Sonia and Evan instantly turned matching shades of red and trained their eyes in every direction but at each other. Cas peered between everyone with what seemed to be a mixture of impatience and confusion, while Sam drew in a slow steadying breath through his nose to stave off the sudden reemergence of the awkward tension he had only just escaped.

“Please excuse my candor, Miss Ivanovna,” Cas finally broke the silence, the authoritative depth of his voice once again commanding everyone’s attention. “But we need to speak to your mother about the homicide she witnessed in the early morning yesterday.”

Dear god, between Jack’s innocent honesty and Castiel’s impatient bluntness, Sam was ready to go live under a rock, but he pushed through the cringe worthy beginning to this introduction with a tight smile that he hoped appeared less forced then it felt.

Sonia seemed to recover before the rest of them, turning around with a rushed, “Yes, of course! Please come in. I’ll fetch her at once.” Before she disappeared into the house.

The moment she was gone, Evan turned wide bewildered eyes on Jack. Not wanting to be privy to more of whatever was going on between all the young people, Sam led Cas over the threshold into the house. They could hear the muffled bell like chatter of Sonia’s voice speaking in fluent Russian to her mother in another room as the hunter meandered into what appeared to be a sitting room on the left off the entryway. Cas drifted in behind him, followed by Evan and Jack. 

Minutes later, all four men turned in unison as they heard two pairs of footsteps approaching from the back of the house, and Evan removed his hat as Sonia and her mother, Katarina, rounded the corner into the sitting room.

Then Mrs. Ivanovna froze in the hallway, the large brown eyes she shared with her daughter suddenly going wide and horror stricken, before she suddenly released a blood curdling shriek, startling everyone. She scrambled backward, nearly tripping over herself in her haste to get away, all the while gesturing wildly at Castiel.

“Дорогой Господь на небесах!(Dear Lord in Heaven!)” She screamed when she finally found her voice, repeatedly crossing herself with trembling hands. “Это он, это он! (It’s him, it’s him!)”

“Мама, ты ошибаешься! Пожалуйста, успокойтесь! (Mother, you are mistaken! Please, you must calm down!)” Sonia cried out over her mother’s screaming, but the old woman was in too much of a panic to hear her. When her daughter reached out for her, she knocked her hands away and bolted as quickly as she could back down the hallway. Sonia turned confused apologetic eyes to her guests before darting after her.

“Stay here,” Evan told his charges, “I’ll go see what in the world just happened.”

He disappeared around the corner, leaving behind a stunned Jack and Sam, both of whom turned their eyes to Cas. If it were possible, Castiel appeared even more stoic and solemn than he had before. 

“Do you know what the hell that was about?” Sam inquired urgently in a low voice.

Cas lifted his eyes to level the younger Winchester with an intense expression, “She believes I’m the killer,” He told them.

**  
  
  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *mashes dramatic piano keys* 
> 
> BUM BUM BUM


	3. Security and Compliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he finds Dean bleeding on the floor of the living room, panic, sharp and white-hot, floods his veins. 
> 
> No. NO. NOT AGAIN.

“...D--n...?”

Disembodied sounds skipped across Dean’s awareness like stones over water. Something warm and feather light brushed up against his mind, enough to stimulate, to entice, and he began to ascend from the void of dreamless sleep.

“Dean, can you hear me?!”

The voice was a familiar one and he tried to focus on it. He felt gentle fingers thread through the cropped hair above his left ear before his body jerked involuntarily away as sharp pain spidered out from his temple. It was quickly chased away by the hot-cold sensation of grace and Dean’s face contorted as the angelic energy began knitting the split skin back together.

The fingers lingered after the grace retreated, gentle and soothing. The hunter unconsciously leaned into them, their warmth chasing the remnants of prickling numbness out of the newly healed skin.

When Dean finally willed his eyes open, a blurry but familiar face was hovering above his own. The hunter blinked hard several times to clear his vision. It felt like he’d just gone through the human equivalent of a hard reset. His hand came up automatically to inspect his head where he’d been injured when his fingers brushed over the ones still pressed against him.

The hunter bolted upright, nearly knocking heads with the stranger, throwing the unfamiliar hand away from him as he scrambled backward on...the couch? He was on a couch. He cast his eyes wildly around the room, his breathing coming faster as recognition began to don on him.

A sitting room. A wall full of weapons. A house in the middle of nowhere. A stranger in the kitchen--Dean’s eyes snapped back to the stranger in question, zeroing in on the man who was now perched on the edge of the coffee table across from him.

“Dean,” He spoke slowly, his eyes never wavering from the hunter’s as though he might disappear the second he looked elsewhere. “You’re alarmed and confused, but you are safe.”

It was surreal, hearing a voice he knew so well coming from a man who was in many ways like Castiel, but in many other subtler ways definitely _not,_ but Dean hadn’t lived this long trusting someone just because they shared a resemblance to someone else, no matter how spot on. Then, as if it really were Cas, the look alike seemed to anticipate the hunter’s skepticism because his hands were immediately up in surrender, empty of weapons or harmful intent. 

“Where am I?!” Dean demanded, but the eerie nature of this encounter kept the usual vibrato from his tone. Instead he sounded shell shocked, uncertainty gripping him and keeping him frozen in place. His eyes darted between the doppelganger and the wall of weapons he could see over his shoulder until the stranger made a move to scoot closer.

Dean shot off the couch and around the otherside of the table so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet, but the stranger seemed to anticipate this as well, swiftly putting himself between the hunter and his intended goal. He cursed under his breath, stalking step for step with the guy in a half circle around the couch and back like a caged animal. Anger suffused the alarm and drawing his lips back into a snarl he barked, “Tell me where the fuck I am!”

“You are safe!” The stranger shot back firmly but without heat. The hunter didn’t miss the sleight of hand evasion. “Look at me Dean, you need to calm down.”

With adrenaline heightening his focus, Dean _did_ look at him and for the first time he took in his entire appearance in the full light of day. It was unsettling how...how _Cas_ he was despite glaring differences. His hair was still the same dark unruly mess it always was, just longer, hanging loose around his ears and forehead and neck in soft curls that made the imploring expression of his face seem more open and believable than it had any right to be.

He was absent of the trenchcoat and in its place, he wore instead a rumpled black cotton button down untucked from dark time worn jeans and black leather combat boots half folded over and sloppily tied. 

His eyes were still blue, but they were darker and held within them the unhinged wildness of raw emotion; a perfect storm in the distance.

Dean’s eyes kept coming back to the scars. “Who are you?” he growled low, needing information but not willing to give an inch.

“I am Castiel.” The stranger answered.

“Bull. Shit.” Dean ground out indignantly, his hackles rising at the idea of this guy claiming such utter nonsense. “You think I’m an idiot? You could be a demon or a shifter, or _anything else_ , but you ain’t Cas.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to believe me without proof.” The look alike confirmed before he gestured slowly, with his hands still held aloft, toward the wall behind him. “I’m going to move toward the weapons and retrieve an angel blade.”

Dean was powerless to do anything but watch in tense silence as the other man slowly backed up toward the wall, never giving the hunter his back, before gradually reaching out one hand to take one of the familiar glistening shapes of the angelic weapon off the wall. Then, making sure the hunter’s eyes were still on him, hiked up his shirt sleeve and ran the sharp edge of the blade over his exposed forearm.

A small shock of gleaming blue-white grace erupted from the wound. 

In the distance, a low roll of thunder broke the silence.

“Big deal. All you proved is that you’re part of the fucking god squad.” Dean retorted hotly, but he was no longer as sure as he had been and it was audible in his voice.

“You don’t believe that.” The angel told him, still holding the blade as he calmly lowered his hands back to his sides. When he began a measured approach, Dean felt the same feather light caress against the edges of his consciousness as he had upon waking, but this time he recognized it for exactly what it was.

“Get the FUCK out of my head.” Dean spat furiously, puffing up and managing to look somewhat threatening despite still only being half dressed. The presence in his mind instantly backed off. 

“I’m sorry.” The angel apologized quickly. “I know how much you hate it, but please understand I simply want to make sure that you’re alright.”

The hunter’s scathing retort about the overly familiar way the angel talked about him died in his throat when the imposter did something completely unexpected; he held the blade out for Dean to take. His brain short circuited for a moment, peering at this guy like he had lost his mind before dropping his eyes to the hilt, highly skeptical that this was some sort of test or trick.

“Take it.” The angel prompted with a nod, his expression infuriatingly sincere. “You always think more clearly with a weapon in your hand.”

Side stepping how this guy knew that particularly intimate detail about him, Dean leaned cautiously forward before quickly snatching the offered blade. The sharp edge slid out of the offering fingers without resistance. The hunter then darted back to put some distance between them, keeping his eyes on the angel the entire time, just waiting for the other shoe to drop. With a solid, firm grip on the weapon, Dean released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Good” Castiel sighed an easy smile that seemed far too friendly for how tense Dean still felt, before settling his weight casually onto his back leg and giving the hunter an appraising once over. “Your cortisol levels have dropped and your heart rate has reduced substantially.”

Dean felt the absurd need to cover himself with his hands which he promptly ignored in favor of sizing the other man up as well. The clothing the angel wore defined his edges differently than the straight stocky trench coat the hunter was used to. It gave him an air of casual confidence and ease that reminded Dean more of himself than the Castiel he knew.

“Don’t do that.” Dean growled.

“Do what?” Castiel asked with a confused tilt of his head.

“That!” Dean barked back, gesturing at him with the tip of the blade, “Don’t act like him!”

“Dean,” Castiel murmured, continuing his approach and stopping only when the tip of the blade pressed against the black fabric of his shirt just under his clavicle. Beneath the loosened collar, Dean could just make out the hint of a leather corded necklace--strange his Cas didn't wear any jewelry that he was aware of. The angel didn’t seem to be concerned by the danger, his eyes still locked on Dean’s face. “I _am him._ ”

They faced off in tense silence for a long moment, occupying the free space directly in front of the larger front windows. The shifting grey sky outside bathed them in drab melancholy light that stole the color from angel’s sullen expression. Dean had to swallow hard around the sudden emotion that welled within him as his physiology reacted to the bittersweetness he could see warring within the angel’s eyes.

“Okay creep,” Dean conceded begrudgingly, though he didn’t lower the blade, “Let’s say, hypothetically, that I believe you. You’re Castiel; a dark broody version of him anyway. Why would you abduct me and bring me here?”

“To keep you safe.” The angel stated as though it should be obvious. 

“Safe?” Dean parroted in outrage. “You impersonated my friend, tricked me with that ‘I miss you’ crap and _knocked me out_ \--”

“There were no tricks.” The angel bristled, his eyes momentarily so full of fury that a thrill of genuine fear ran up the hunter’s spine.

A streak of lightning flickered across the sky in his periphery.

“And I _do_ miss you.” He continued, his hard expression fading into something soft and yearning. “So much so it aches with every breath.”

Dean’s cheeks instantly colored at the blunt statement, hating how exposed he felt under the angel’s too familiar gaze. “You can’t just say shit like that!” He fumed, half embarrassed and half taken aback “And stop looking at me like that! You don’t even know me!”

“I know you better than anyone ever has or will.” Castiel replied wistfully, his eyes looking past him to some distant moment in time. “Better than your own brother. Better even than this reality’s version of myself.”

Dean faltered, his intent with the blade slipping as the bizarre statement caught him off guard.

“This reality’s version of--What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

The angel released a curt breath, seeming to tire quickly of this line of questioning. Instead of answering, he asked a question of his own. “Are you hungry?”

“Hungry--?” Dean began incredulously, before grabbing a fistful of his shirt and shifting the blade up to the asshole’s throat. “Listen, I’m done playing nice. Give me some real fucking answers or--”

“You must be, you haven’t eaten recently,” Castiel muttered absently, completely unphased by the sharp edge of the angel blade digging into the skin just under his jaw. “Breakfast will still be warm if you--”

“Shut up!” Dean shouted in his face, giving him a light shake. “You can’t just--”

Apparently, he could in fact _just_ , because in the next breath the hunter was staring at open air where there had been a man less than a second ago. For a moment Dean stood dumbstruck, his fist and the blade still poised as they had been before he gave a loud frustrated growl and whipped around to inspect the space around him. 

What should he do? What _could_ he do? He briefly entertained the thought of just bolting out the front door, but it only took once glance out the giant front windows to prove that that would be a futile escape if tried. Thick pine forest stretched out over mountainous terrain for as far as the eye could see, and no other house dotted the lake around them. Despite the finery of the house, there seemed to be no civilization around for miles. That wasn’t even taking into account the storm clouds that seemed to have rolled in from nowhere, darkening the already hazy sky.

His fist tightened around the blade until his knuckles turned white.

Okay. So he was trapped there. Fan-fucking-tastic. And his captor was some psycho angel who thought he was Cas from another dimension. Crazy as it sounded, Dean thought back to the drugged out miserable human altar of Cas he’d met almost a decade ago, then to more recently to the alters of Charlie and Bobby and...Michael...from the Apocalypse world.

A handful of other instances flickered through his mind, proving that it might not be as unreasonable as he initially thought, but that didn’t change the fact that he was a fucking _hostage._

After a moment of deliberation, he shook himself out of it and decided the safest thing he could do for the time being was to keep his head down and bide his time. Strange as the guy was, he didn’t seem to be of the mind to hurt him; he’d even said he’d taken him to ‘ _keep him safe’,_ whatever the hell that meant. 

There had to be some information to dig up somewhere. Maybe he could get the guy to tell him their general location, that would be a start. If he could get that out of him, then all he had to do was find a phone or a computer, hell he’d settle for writing a fucking letter if it meant he could get a hold of Sam or Cas.

His stomach fell through the floor as he considered his companions. Sam would have likely woken up to find him gone without a trace and he wasn’t sure exactly how much time had passed, but he knew his little brother would have gotten a hold of Cas by now. 

The mere thought of the angel worrying about his well being had the hunter up in arms again; he was going to get some answers out of this bastard even if he had to cut them out in pieces.

Once again, Dean followed the sounds of clattering cutlery into the kitchen, this time making his way deliberately and with purpose, only to find Not-Cas pouring a mug of coffee like they were acting out some sort of family sitcom while a plate heaping with scrambled eggs, bacon and two slices of toast--sporting butter AND dark jam--sat before one of the chairs on the side of the breakfast bar closest to him.

The angel glanced up as Dean approached, flashing a charming smile that made the hunter’s stomach tense unpleasantly. Fuck, why did this guy have to look _so much_ like Cas?! 

Not-Cas then gestured invitingly to the seat he'd set up for the meal, which Dean stubbornly ignored in favor of pinning the guy with a scathing glare.

“Dean, please.” The angel coaxed the way Cas would when the hunter was being unnecessarily difficult. “You’re reacting emotionally because you’re depleted. If you just--”

“Don’t fucking patronize me.” Dean spat at him, “You think I’m going to just roll over and play nice because you healed me and cooked a meal? We-” He gestured between them with the blade, “--are not friends. I don’t _know_ you. YOU. ABDUCTED. ME.” The last words were a deafening roar in the silent kitchen as his temper finally boiled over. “So how about you stop jerking me off here and give me some _real fucking answers._ ”

The angel was unresponsive through the outburst, his expression impossible to read before his eyes fell to the coffee pot and mug in his hands. With a curt little sigh of impatience, he slid the full cup across the counter toward the hunter and replaced the pot on the warmer. Then, before the hunter’s stunned eyes, he added a bit of heavy cream and a dash of cinnamon to rich smelling liquid.

The hunter stared at the steam curling up from the mug, not sure how to gauge the strange apprehension he felt that this guy knew exactly how he made his own coffee…

"I made it the same way every morning for five years." Not-Cas answered the question Dean hadn't asked, and then gestured to the plate between them, "The eggs are made with sour cream instead of milk. The bacon is slightly charred because your mother always overcooked it when you were a child, and the blackberry jam is spread over melted unsalted butter because even though you pretend not to hear Sam when he warns you about your blood pressure, you do make small concessions."

O.K. Apprehensive was the understatement of the century. Still skeptical, the defiance he felt was all suddenly undone as his empty stomach betrayed his hunger with an audible growl.

"I didn’t bring you all the way here to poison you." Not-Cas remarked flippantly, his jaw set derisively and, Chuck help him, Dean couldn’t help but feel like this was the exact same sort repertoire he had with the angel he knew. As if he could sense the hunter finally settling down, he finished with. “If you sit down and eat, I will tell you the whole truth. Is that acceptable?”

Dean narrowed his eyes at him, favoring a short nod instead of a word of affirmation before finally taking a seat. He set the angel blade down right beside the plate within easy grabbing distance before leaning forward on his forearms and taking up the fork.

“Not like I have a choice.” He grunted. “So--” He took the first bite of seasoned egg, fully intending on speaking through a mouthful but instead froze mid chew. His eyes went wide as the flavor hit him, barely containing a groan when he began chewing again. Despite being no where near trusting the guy, the hunter couldn't deny that the food was _awesome_ and he began shoveling it in with gusto; forgetting for the time being that he was supposed to be interrogating his kidnapper.

For his part, Castiel set about cleaning up the kitchen, giving Dean privacy to eat in peace, but despite eating with his head down he kept sharp eyes glued on the angel’s back as he moved around the space behind the bar. He looked on as he performed the mundane tasks of rinsing and washing the pans and utensils before hand drying them and tucking them into their respective places. It was so simply domestic it almost felt like a morning off in the bunker. Dean refocused on his plate, pushing that idea out of his as the angel took up a wet rag and wiped down the stovetop and counter. 

"Your mistrust isn’t unwarranted." He muttered, not looking up from his task. "I realize multidimensional theory must be a concept difficult to come to terms with--"

"Let me just stop you right there." Dean interjected around a mouthful of toast. "The alternate universe thing is kinda ‘been there done that’ so you can stow the condescending explanation.”

The angel stilled, his eyes flickering up to meet Dean's with a pinched look half way between irritated and confused. The expression was just so _Cas_ it made Dean’s heart skip.

_Fuck this is weird._

"You've...been to other realities as well?" He inquired.

"Oh yeah. Apocalypse World 1: Zombieland and the sequel: Return of Michael. Both sucked. Giant Shadowy Monster world; also sucked."

The angel's brows furrowed, "I see…"

"You're not the first alter Cas I've met either, but you are the first one to _abduct me."_ The hunter's eyes hardened into a pointed glare which the angel held, unphased.

When it seemed as though this Castiel wasn't going to take the hint, Dean rolled his eyes and added an impatient, "Look, you said if I played nice here that you’d give me give me some answers,” He gestured to the half empty plate in front of him. “So unless you want me to sit here and keep assuming that this is as bad as it looks, start talking."

The angel remained silent as he turned to drape the rag over the sink faucet before reclining back against the back counter to appraise Dean from a distance. The hunter held his gaze expectantly, absently licking butter and jam from his thumb and lips as he finished off the last bite of his toast.

He was considering all the possible answers he could receive when he caught the angel’s attention drop down to track the movement of his mouth without shame. Stunned, Dean tore his hand away from his face to grab his discarded fork and began pushing the remnants of the meal around on the plate as a distraction from the color blooming across his cheeks. The heat in that stormy gaze was unmistakable. He felt naked under such scrutiny and he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.

“I came to this world to find and protect you.” The angel began, drawing the hunter’s attention again despite his small internal crisis. “To prevent what happened to the man I...knew...from happening to you.”

“Yeah, you said that before.” Dean retorted, “So what, you’re like the ghost of Christmas future; heed your warning or perish?”

There was a heartbeat of silence in which the light above them flickered once before the angel replied. “He was killed.”

The hunter froze, lowering his fork and staring at the other man in disbelief. “Oh.”

For the first time since Dean had seen him, the angel appeared truly uncomfortable, almost fidgeting and looking anywhere but at him. Dean lowered his head, the air between them now solemn and serious. Sure he knew he’d obviously die one day. Hell, he’d died a few times already, but to witness the pain it had clearly caused from this side made him feel guilty despite being alive.

Absurdly, he thought about his asshole future self and the Cas from the Croatoan universe. That miserable human version of his friend had been his fault too. Was there any reality in which Dean didn’t let his angel down?

After a long moment, he finally asked, “How…?”

Castiel flinched, expression pained as he squeezed his eyes shut once before opening them to look directly at the hunter’s face. The hauntingly blank expression gave the Dean pause.

“He lost himself...” The angel murmured sadly. “And I was not strong enough to find him.”

“So...you came here to stop it from happening to me?” Dean asked haltingly, feeling that this was obviously going to be a touch and go subject. 

The angel remained silent for a beat before stepping forward, gesturing to the hunter’s plate. “You’ve stopped eating.”

Dean glanced down at his half full plate but found that he’d suddenly lost his appetite. 

“I’ve upset you.” Castiel stated, his tone tight and guilt ridden.

A clap of thunder loud enough to rattle the kitchen windows startled the hunter out of his own head, causing him to knock his coffee mug over. With a clatter and a curse, the hot liquid splashed down over his shirt and thighs. He shot up from the stool in the same moment that Castiel bolted around the bar, rag back in hand.

Despite their weighty discussion, Dean instantly regretted not grabbing the angel blade as the other man drew in near, but before he could think about maneuvering to defend himself, the angel was kneeling in front of him, patting down the rapidly cooling coffee pooling around his feet, before running it up his shins and over his thighs to catch what still ran off his skin in warm rivulets.

“WOAH! HEY!” Dean yelped as the rag skimmed over the soaked crotch of his boxers before slapping the insistent hands away, his face and neck splotching crimson. “Jesus christ man, did your Dean not ever talk to you about _personal space_? You can’t just--”

A firm grip behind one knee stopped the hunter’s backward retreat, pulling him instead back into arms reach. With an undignified grunt, Dean’s hands wheeled out in shock only to land hard on the angel’s shoulders to catch his balance. An arm circled around his lower back then, pulling him even closer.

The hunter’s eyes immediately jumped over to the angel blade he could still see glistening on the counter, but went still before he could reach for it when the angel’s forehead pressed into his hip bone. Slowly, fighting the instinct to lash out in an attempt to get away, Dean peered down his torso.

His heart gave a violent lurch in his chest.

The angel was trembling beneath his hands, his face pressed into the hunter’s hip with one hand holding the rag against his waist line where the majority of the coffee had splashed him and the other balled tightly into the fabric on the back of his shirt. His grip at once held him closer and kept him from backing away.

After a moment, the angel turned his face away from the Dean’s body without breaking contact with his hip, his cheek warm against the top of his thigh. Dean’s heart thundered behind his ribs but he was too stunned by the bizarre turn of events to react.

“I’m sorry.” Castiel’s voice floated up from the floor, deep and wrecked with emotion. 

Another rumble of thunder caught Dean’s attention and he glanced up to look out the windows on the far side of the kitchen to discover that it had started raining. Thick drops pelted the windows in heavy sheets almost loud enough to drown out the alarm bell going off in his head.

“Hey, hey it's alright." He soothed warily, awkwardly patting the angel's shoulders despite himself. "It's just coffee--" Then, something unsettling struck him. Very slowly, Dean pushed at the angel's shoulders until he knelt back on his heels, peering up at the hunter with tear tracks lining his face. 

A distant memory tugged at Dean's brain: a thunderstorm in a barn…

And then everything clicked: the freak thunderstorm that had fried the motel video footage, the familiar build of the faceless killer, and finally the absolutely supernatural strength necessary to break Hishov the way he's been broken…

"You…" Dean hissed in disbelief, backing away from the angel who seemed to pick up that there was something seriously wrong now if his panicked expression was anything to go by. 

Castiel unfolded to his full height, reaching for Dean but the hunter stayed out of his swiping distance this time.

"Sam was right. Something was hunting us--hunting me." He corrected, glaring daggers as the angel whose emotional control seemed to be unhinging in the same increments that Dean was beginning to understand. "You--you killed an innocent man…"

The lights in the kitchen flickered violently as the wind howled around the eves of the house. Lightning struck somewhere close, the ground quaking beneath the force of its fury. 

"Dean, listen I--" Castiel began but the hunter cut him with a furious shout.

"Listen?!" He barked, "To what, huh?! What could you possibly have to say to justify murder?”

“I--”

“Stow it!” Dean spat, “I’m getting out of here.”

But before he could turn away, before he could even blink, the angel was on him, grasping his arms in a grip hard enough the hunter cried out in pain, the bones beneath his vince like fingers screaming in protest. 

“Let go!” He yelled in the angel’s face, “You’re hurting me!”

The issuing struggle was short lived, the angel easily overpowered him, bringing him in intimately close and pinning Dean’s arms to his sides while pressing their bodies together with one arm. With his free hand he reverently caressed the hunter’s cheek.

“Never.” He murmured, and when Dean glanced up at his face he couldn’t suppress the gasp of alarm; the deep blue was completely overcast with a terrifyingly pure brilliant white.

Another breath and that splintering hot cold sensation of grace flooded Dean’s system from the hand on his face. His entire body suddenly became twice as heavy and his knees buckled until the angel’s grip was the only thing holding him upright. He felt drugged, his vision blurring as his head lolled back, only to be held up by that tender hand from his cheek as it moved to cup the back of his neck.

“I will never let you go again.”

_Cas._ The hunter prayed as loudly as he could with his last remaining energy. _Cas. Help._

Then the power overwhelmed him, his eyes slipping closed as his awareness was smothered like a candle flame. Castiel bent down to hook the backs of the hunter’s knees over one arm before lifting him effortlessly into a bridal style hold, carefully cradling his limp body against his chest.

“I am here, beloved.” He murmured with his lips pressed against Dean’s temple. “I will fix this.”

With carefully measured steps so as not to jostle the hunter, the angel made his way back upstairs and deposited him in the bed he’d woken in and replaced the blankets over him. With one last brush of his fingers over the hunter’s cheek, he wiped his memory of the motel, the storm and the murder. 

He hesitated for a moment, his hand lingering on the supple softness beneath Dean’s eye before moving forward to place a chaste kiss to his sleep soft lips.

“I will fix everything.”

* * *

**  
  
  
**

Despite numerous assurances from both her daughter and officer Adams, Katerina Ivanovna refused to speak with Castiel present and demanded that he leave her property, so the angel had made the executive decision to wait by the car while Sam and Jack spoke to her.

He had suspected something like this would happen ever since he’d received the first intonation of grace in the brother’s shared hotel room. Jack hadn’t been able to make the connection the same way because the energy hadn’t resonated with his own the way it had done for Cas. To him, it felt as though he himself had popped in to check on Dean in the night as he had done many times before.

The problem was that it _hadn’t been him_.

However, now with Mrs. Ivanovna’s reaction, he was sure. They were dealing with another version of him just as they had dealt with alternate versions Michael and Zachariah. He had killed the disgusting excuse of himself from that Apocalyptic world so it couldn’t be him, but that only left the rest of the multiverse to worry about.

With a frustrated sigh, Cas reached for the handle of the passenger side door when a sudden prayer so loud and desperate hit him from out of the blue hard enough to bring him to his knees.

_Cas. Help._

__

He gasped aloud, fisting his hands into the dirt and sharp stone gravel of the driveway, his eyes wide with shock and grace white as the feeling of utter powerlessness associated with the prayer seeped into every fiber of his being.

From the house, Jack felt the energy fluctuation and immediately excused himself from Sam’s side, sprinting out the front door without explanation to find his father attempting to get to his feet on shaking legs. The young man quickly offered his arm, propping Cas against the side of the car. Sam was on them a moment later.

“Cas!” The younger Winchester called to him as he rounded the nose of the car. “Are you alright? What happened?!”

Cas leaned heavily against the car and Jack’s supporting grip, his chest heaving from the power of the prayer. His eyes flickered nervously between his companions to the pair, Sophia and Evan, watching from the porch. 

Then in a low, pained voice, he bit out, “Dean is in danger.”

**  
  
  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POOR BABY IS GONNA HAVE BRAIN DAMAGE BY THE END OF THIS STORY


	4. Delusion and Denial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!WARNING!!! 
> 
> !!!THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS DUBCON MATERIAL!!!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who forgave my trickery and gave some love to my artwork in the previous chapter! Along with this REAL update, I am also adding some artwork to PART 2, so please check it out once you finish with this new bit!
> 
> **EDIT**  
> So for some reason in this chapter my brain malfunctioned and I wrote 'Sophia' when the character's name is actually 'Sonia', so fixed that. Jeez >_<

An argument ensued. 

After hearing that his brother was in active danger, Sam had admittedly gone a little off the deep end. He demanded more information and got emotional when Cas couldn’t provide more than a vague location somewhere near the border of South Dakota and Wyoming. He forced himself to walk away to keep from further accosting the angel in his weakened state.

Since the first piercing sensation of the prayer, Cas's heart hadn't stopped hammering. The panic was disorienting, sending his vision spinning and muffling the sounds around him, while a wild hyperfocus circled the echo of the prayer. Dean was in danger and he had next to no grace with which to find him, let alone get to him. Not that it would have mattered if he had. Even after he’d pleaded Jack to stretch out his senses to the area in question, the young man had felt nothing, not even a blip on his radar.

"It's because it's me." Cas explained between panting breaths, straightening his posture from his hunched position against the car. "I have warding that makes me invisible to other angels."

"What do you mean, 'its you?'" Sam demanded, pacing the length of the car in an effort to calm down. 

Over the hood, on the porch, he could see Sophia and Evan growing more restless the longer they remained separated. Bolting mid conversation was, at the very least, incredibly rude but the darkening expression in Sonia's face made Sam's stomach twist into knots. Her mother already had the wrong impression of Cas and all it would take was a phone call on Evan's part to figure out they weren't real feds.

"The angel that took Dean, it's me." Cas explained, "Not _me_ me, obviously. An alternate version of me."

Sam froze and advanced on Cas, whisper shouting, "What?!" Before schooling himself a bit calmer in front of their audience. Through a tense jaw he asked, "How can you possibly know that?"

Cas looked away, ashamed. "I first suspected it in the hotel room when we arrived--"

Sam's brow shot up into his hairline, "Oh yeah? And when exactly were you going to share that with the class?!” He hissed.

"When I was sure." Cas snapped back, "I had to be sure Sam. If we didn't have all the information and chased a false lead with Dean still out there...if he got hurt or--"

He couldn't finish, he couldn't even think about it. If Dean were hurt or killed while he fumbled in the dark trying to find him, it would destroy him. Despite his agitation, Sam seemed to understand, his entire demeanor shifting as he placed a hand on the angel's shoulder.

"I get it." He said simply before adding. "I'm sorry Cas, it’s just..."

"Overwhelming." Cas finished for him. "Your brother is an integral part of our lives. He hasn't been lost in the wind like this since the mark--"

"And we'll find him, just like we found him then." Sam interjected, not wanting to think about that terrible dark time when his brother had been consumed by darkness, "Besides, he was actively evading us then. If anything we should be extra vigilant of him trying to contact us. The prayer for instance."

Cas didn't have the heart to tell the younger hunter that the prayer hadn't been a conscious message at all; more like the last desperate plea of a man outgunned and overwhelmed. 

"Uh, guys…?" Jack chimed in but it was too late. 

Before they knew it, young Sonia Ivanovna was upon them, her pretty face drawn in suspicion and scrutiny.

"Sonia please, you can't just--!" Evan tottered behind her as they rounded the nose of the car, but she paid him no heed.

"I demand to know what is going on this instant!" The young woman barked. Despite her willowy build, her tone left no room for argument. "You come into my home, you scare my mother half to death and then you flee from my living room like men possessed!" 

Her lovely doe eyes flashed sharply, vigilant and judgmental. If Cas hadn't known better he would have thought her an angel.

"I'm sorry Miss Ivanovna," Cas spoke up, "It was my fault my...heart...is in poor condition. I collapsed and my partner's must have seen from the--"

"Do. Not. Lie. To me." She bit out, crossing her slight arms and setting her stance more assertively than any woman her size should be capable of. "I see in your eyes that isn't the truth. You have fear and guilt written plainly on your face. My mother believes without a doubt that you are the killer and I am quickly beginning to side with her--"

"Sonia!" Evan chided, "These men just arrived in town a few hours ago! The murder took place three days ago, there's no way Agent Dolp could have been there, you're mother is mistaken!"

When Sonia turned those cutting eyes on Evan, the young man melted before her, casting Sam a pleading expression.

"Evan is right!" Jack piped up before Sam could speak, coming to the defense of his newly made friend, "Sam was the only one here three days ago!" The statement rang loud in the following silence. Sam and Cas both froze, staring at Jack in disbelief. The young man looked between them all with a slight tilt of his head, not catching on to what he’d just done until the last moment. “Uh...I mean--”

“Sam?” Evan parroted, his eyes widening a fraction as he sized Sam up, reconsidering every moment they'd shared together while Sophia's face colored crimson with fury.

"You were here the day of the murder?!" She demanded, walking right up to the hunter and poking him in the chest. "What else have you neglected to tell us, eh? I'm beginning to doubt you're even a federal agent!"

"Sonia please!" Evan squeaked, startled by the brazen accusation in her tone despite his own wavering certainty. "I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation for all of this--"

"HA!" She barked out a humorless laugh. "Ради их же блага, так оно и должно быть! (For their sakes, there had better be!)" And to then three of them in English she hissed, "Explain now or I will call Sheriff Briggs to sort this out!"

Cas and Sam exchanged mutual looks of bewilderment before the younger Winchester turned to face Sonia with an earnest air, his hands up in surrender.

"Alright. Alright, how about we all calm down and take it from the top, okay?"

Sonia gave a curt nod before settling back on her heel and folding her arms expectantly.

With a sigh, Sam began, "This is going to be hard to swallow but please try to bare with me, alright? The truth is we--" He gestured between himself, Cas and Jack, "--aren't federal agents."

"Wait...what?" Evan squawked, seemingly more taken aback than Sonia about this news. "But--but you had ID!"

"They are fake," Cas responded contritely. "Forgive me Officer, but we are now on an even more limited time table than we were previously so I will be frank. My associates and I are a family of hunters--"

Sam opened his mouth to protest his bluntness but the angel didn't heed him, too worked up now to derail his explanation.

"As unbelievable as it will no doubt sound, we hunt creatures that you would consider fictional or myth. In the early hours last night my...friend...was taken from another motel and we believe the creature responsible also killed your patron here three days ago.”

“Creature!?” Evan parroted in denial. “What in the world does that mean?”

“How do you know it is the same creature?” Sonia asked over the young officer, shockingly unphased by the explanation she had been given.

“Uh…” Sam started lamely. “...you believe us?”

Sonia narrowed her eyes, “Are you lying?” she asked cooly. 

“No.” Cas replied firmly before answering her previous question. “I know it's the same creature because we share the same energy signature. It's another angel.”

“Another angel?!” Evan stated in disbelief once again, looking a bit green around the gills, “So you expect us to believe that not only are you searching for an angel but that _you_ are an angel?”

Cas’s stony expression was enough to have the young man in hysterics.

“You can’t be serious. Angels aren’t--they don’t--”

“тише, милый мальчик (hush, sweet boy)” Sonia tutted with calming hand on Evan’s arm, stilling his escalating agitation. The young man quieted instantly though his expression remained wide eyed and perturbed. To Cas she said, “My mother was correct then, the thing that killed Viktor was an angel of death?”

Sam was impressed to say the least. Evan had been right about her; she was resilient and calm in the face of information that would have overwhelmed anyone else. “Not exactly, but it's close enough.” He replied.

“Why would this creature take your friend?” Sophia pressed further.

“His name is Dean, and he’s my brother.” Sam admitted, feeling like any further lies or half truths would set her off again, deservedly so. “And we all sort of have a history with angry angels.” Sam answered, “It’s a long story.”

Sonia considered this for a moment before glancing at Jack, “Then if what he said is true and you were here before... this angel was searching for your brother when it killed Viktor.”

Sam’s face fell as the guilt slammed into him, “...yes, we think so.” he affirmed through a clenched jaw.

“Why?” She implored sadly, her expression slipping for the first time from the stern stone mask of brevity. “Why kill him? He was a good man!”

“We don’t know his motive.” Cas replied, before stepping into her personal space, his eyes bright with conviction. “But I swear to you that I will find him and make him pay.”

Sonia observed him with watery eyes before nodding curtly once, “Good.” Then, she glanced away before looking back at the angel with reproach. “Answer me one more thing.” 

“Of course.” Cas replied.

The only sign of nerves was the slight clench of her fists at her sides. “If you are searching for another angel, then why does my mother insist that you are the killer?”

Once again, Sam and Cas exchanged looks before he replied. “Because the angel we are searching for, who took my friend and killed your kin...he shares my face.”

“What does that mean?” Evan piped up, seeming to find his voice once again. “Are you family or something?”

“No.” Cas grit out harsher than he intended. 

“Some of the creatures we hunt aren’t...from this world.” Sam explained haltingly, not sure if the ‘multiple realities’ bomb was going to be the final straw here but deciding it was necessary; they were already irrevocably involved and if this Cas look alike ever came back the more they knew, the safer they would be. 

“What, like aliens!?” Evan yelped, his nerves fraying further.

“No!” Sam was quick to correct him but he doubted very much the truth would calm him the slightest. “Like...from other realities.”

“Other...realities?” The young man echoed, clearly overwhelmed.

“So this angel is you?” Sonia asked over Evan once again.

“Yes.” Cas nodded, once again surprised by this girl’s ability to accept the information being thrown at her.

“And he took your...friend?” She continued a bit softer.

Her demeanor had completely shifted, her hand coming to rest comfortingly on Cas’s forearm just as she had done with Evan. “Успокой свою бурю, Сын Божий (Calm your storm, Son of God.).” She murmured with a sad smile. “Ваша любовь с осветит путь обратно к нему (Your love will light the way back to him.).”

Cas was stunned into silence while Sam looked on completely lost between the two of them.

Jack smiled knowingly.

“My mother will not believe this.” Sonia continued on in english. “But I can assure you that if you need aid, you have mine and Evan’s support.”

“They--they do?” Evan stuttered, before a pointed look from her had him nodding along with a sudden conviction. “I--I mean of course you do!”

“Uh...thanks.” Sam responded while Cas seemed to still be lost for words. “I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting you to take this information so easily…”

“Before he died, my father was a scholar.” Sonia responded in kind, her tone soft and reverent, “He often spoke of fantastical creatures and entities relevant to his research. My mother was less inclined to believe his stories, but I always found them fascinating.”

“His research?” Jack asked curiously.

“Yes, he worked in collaboration with a scholarly branch here in the states. He and Viktor were childhood friends and had a life long agreement to work together to get us all out of our poor little village…” She trailed off with a sad sigh. “My father fell ill and died before he could make the trip. My mother was devastated, but I convinced her to carry out his wishes. Viktor kept his word and looked after us in his stead.”

Sam stood stunned, unsure if he was hearing correctly. “Did your father ever give you the name of that scholarly branch?”

She smiled, her finger’s slipping beneath the collar of her dress and pulled out a small medallion connected to a slim gold chain around her neck. It was decorated with a symbol Sam recognized instantly. “He called them, хранители истины (keepers of the truth).”

With a look of question, Sam reached for the medallion, holding it between his thumb and forefinger when she nodded her permission. It was about the size and shape of a silver dollar, but the pair of arrowheads pointing in opposite directions to create a six point star was unmistakable. 

“Your father was a Man of Letters…?”

“You know them?” She asked, surprised for the first time since she’d come outside.

“I...uh...I am one.” He replied to which Sonia absolutely beamed.

After a brief discussion about their mutual connection to the Men of Letters and a promise to explore it more in depth, the conversation turned to potential plans of action. While Jack hadn't been able to sense any angelic energy signatures in the area that Dean's prayer had originated, it was still their best starting point. 

At Sonia's suggestion, Evan invited everyone back to his apartment for lunch and to alleviate Mrs. Ivanovna of the stress having them all there induced. After checking up on her mother one last time Sonia came back out with a small nap sack and new appearance having changed out of the simple cotton dress she'd been sporting to a more sturdy pair of jeans and a sweater.

The young woman then slid into the passenger seat of Evan's squad car after confirming the travel plan one last time. Likewise, the boys climbed back into the impala and once again followed behind Evan as he lead the way to their destination.

The drive was quiet, save for the pur of the engine and Cas realized with a heavy heart that what he missed most were all indicators of Dean presence: rock on the radio, hands tapping against the steering wheel and of course Dean himself humming along. 

The angel had never felt so isolated in the passenger seat. His heart ached for the flash of green in a sideways glance and its accompanying crooked smile. 

"You doing okay, Cas?" Sam's voice broke into the angel's thoughts.

Cas forced himself to give a small sharp nod of affirmation but the tight lipped expression on his face clearly indicated it was a lie.

"I know you're worried.” Sam continued a bit softer, “I am too, but Dean’s a fighter. You know he’s not going to take this quietly. He’s probably giving this other you all sorts of hell.”

He knew Sam was trying to make him feel better but the prayer still had him shaken. He knew Dean well enough to understand that such a prayer only came in the most hopeless moments when he was on the losing end of a battle. With an alternate version of himself being the culprit, the reasons for such a battle were plentiful. There was no way to know if it bore the same affinity for the hunter as he did, if it cared even a little or if it harbored resentment or even hatred. 

The versions of himself that he’d met or been told about were so different from him and even to each other that it was a complete unknown.

* * *

  
  


Castiel lingered with Dean in his room for a few hours, laid out next to him on the bed, simply watching him. It was a strange mixture of relief and apprehension that gripped him, a small reprieve from the heartache and numbing guilt. 

After the allowance of the kiss, he attempted to resist the urge to touch the hunter further, but it wasn’t long before he caved, drawn to the other man like a moth to a flame. The angel reached for him with trembling fingers, hardly believing he had finally done it; finally found him.

Fingertips traced over his brow, down his cheek, across his jawline, all the while moisture collected along his lashes and slipped over the bridge of his nose to dampen the pillow below his head. Dean Winchester was beautiful no matter the reality. It was a pleasant constant he’d discovered long ago, but despite all physical appearances, none of the versions he’d found so far had the same uniquely beautiful soul. All were shaped in similar ways, but the subtle differences of each reality colored them differently.

This Dean was the first he’d found whose soul glittered with the same brilliant greens and golds he’d come to know so well and he greedily drank in the sight of it. He was even bold enough to reach out a small tendril of grace, brushing up against a lazy golden flare arching out from the hunter's soul. He let out a shaky breath as it responded to him, twining around and fitting with his grace like an old glove.

_You know it isn’t_ **_you_ ** _he’s responding to, right?_

Castiel’s entire body tensed but he didn’t respond to the insidious voice. The lights in the room flickered violently as a possessive protectiveness flared in him so sharply he had to focus his breathing to keep himself calm, unwilling to risk hurting Dean again.

He spent a final moment watching his hunter in peaceful sleep before finally pushing himself up off the bed and exiting the room. He brushed passed the dark phantom leering at the pair of them from just outside the doorway, firmly pulling the door closed behind him to keep its filthy gaze off of Dean. 

As he descended the stairs back into the living space, he considered the events of the morning. Their first encounter could have gone smoother, but he knew now what could go wrong and vowed to correct his mistakes. This time when the hunter woke, he would have no recollection of the angel stupid impulsive mistake and therefore would feel no revolution from the knowledge of the dead clerk. 

It was a small manipulation but in the end, it wouldn’t matter.

Despite that minor hiccup, this Dean had been receptive to him in a way few others had been. Everything from his disposition, to his eyes, to his height, to the inflection in his voice; it was all the same. He was the same and the angel was sure that it would only be a matter of time before he came around.

_Keep telling yourself that, angel._

Castiel once again ignored the honey sweet drawl vying for his attention, his eyes skimming over the apparition now lounging on the couch with its feet propped on the coffee table. 

_Come on sweetheart, you really think you’re gonna get off that easy?_

The suggestive lilt in it’s voice made his stomach flip, but he didn’t acknowledge the words as he passed by the couch to feed the dying fire with another log. A prickling heat at the back of his neck signaled the sickening brush of apparition’s fingers, but the angel anticipated it and skirted out of the way before it could touch him. Wheeling back around, he took it’s spot and sunk down onto the plush couch cushion.

The apparition, a handsome man dressed in flattering cuts of black and red, sighed long sufferingly from his place leaning against the stone mantel of the fireplace, his arms crossed petulant over his chest. 

_You’ve been a fucking bore for decades and now you suddenly decide to grow a pair,_ he whined _. Where was this Castiel when we were in that gender bent universe? If you were this titillated by_ **_that_ ** _sweet piece of me, we could have_ **_really_ ** _had some fun._

Castiel turned his head to peer out the window, unresponsive, while the apparition prowled closer, every inch of him predatory and ready to pounce. When it looked as though the angel would stay put this time, he saddled up next to him on the arm rest and leaned in close enough to be considered intimate without touching him.

_You’ve really gone off the deep end this time, babe,_ the man purred, running a hand absently through his own short cropped hair, _and coming from me you know that’s saying something. When have you ever known me to just accept my circumstances, eh? You think he’s not going to fight tooth and nail to get away from you just like I did?_

The faintest twitch down at the corner of the angel’s mouth was all the in he needed, and suddenly the slick dressed man was throwing a leg over the angel’s lap, straddling his thighs.

_Wow, Cas._ He said with a low whistle as he settled into place with a shimmy of his hips and fingered the tie around the angel’s neck suggestively. _You really still have it that bad for me, huh?_

The angel went rigid beneath the lean body, the muscle in his jaw jumping under the hand which caressed it in a mockery of tenderness. A dark smirk full of sharp teeth and lethal intent split across the apparition’s face like a wound.

_Look at me,_ _lover_. He ordered, his voice flanging a dual tone of the voice he knew and something deep and dark and terrible. _You know you wanna._

Castiel closed his eyes and swallowed hard against the emotion welling up in his throat, willing himself to ignore it.

_LOOK. AT. ME._

The inhuman roar turned his blood to ice. Tears welled behind his eyelids, his breath coming shorter and shallower. Outside the wind howled. A cruel throaty chuckle reverberated against his temple where he could swear he felt the very real press of warm lips. The guilt and the longing crippled his willpower and despite knowing exactly what he would see, he slowly opened his eyes and lifted his gaze.

Angry charred holes filled with blackness void deep and wretched were the only things that peered back. The vibrant green eyes that had once brought such life to that beautiful face had long since been burned out, but even had they still existed, the warmth had been extinguished the moment the hellish mark on his arm had been seared into his flesh.

_There he is,_ the demonic spirit murmured in a low singsong voice. _Look at you all full of hope and sunshine_. In an instant the demon surged forward, taking Castiel by the throat, digging his thumb into his pulse point. 

“Dean don’t, please…” The angel wheezed in a desperate choked off sob.

The demon’s other hand slid down his tie and disappeared between them, slipping beneath the waistband of the angel’s jeans. The fingers fit around him the length of him with the ease of muscle memory and Castiel gasped, his eyes falling closed until a painfully tight squeeze around the sensitive flesh jolted them back open.

_Ah ah ah, eyes on me, angel,_ the demon growled. Once he was sure the angel wouldn’t look away again, he began stroking him with a lazy twist of his fist, causing the angel’s breath to stutter and hiss in an attempt to stifle the desperate touch starved sounds bubbling up from his chest.

_I gotta say, Cas, I’m a little hurt._ He demon murmured with a bawdy pout of his full lips, _You go and find a shiny new me with all the bells and whistles, and here you are suddenly thinking you’re untouchable; thinking I can’t still bend and twist that broken little heart in any old way I please._

The hand on Castiel’s airway slid around to twist claw-like fingers up into the thick dark hair at the back of his skull hard enough to draw a pained yelped from the angel, wrenching his head back and exposing his bruised throat. Full lips and wet tongue molded over the thick cord of muscle straining against the hold while teeth filed to unforgivingly sharp points left vicious marks in their wake.

The angel cried out when those teeth sank into the soft and sensitive skin just beneath the bolt of his jaw. From the angle of his head only the high wooden ceiling above was immediately visible, and with the apparition occupied for the time being, he squeezed his eyes shut without fear of reprimand, allowing himself to sink into the memory of a time when these hands and those lips touched him with tenderness and love instead of cruel lascivity.

_Yeeees,_ the demon groaned obscenely against the angel’s hot skin. _Think about all those bygone days of sleepy morning love making before coffee and kisses on the roof of the car under the stars._

The angel’s eyes snapped open as the hand around his cock sped up, expertly stroking over the engorged flesh as a long pointed pink tongue swiped tantalizingly at the lobe of his ear before sucking it between plump lips. Then, sitting up on his knees, the eyeless hunter pressed his torso up against the angel’s chest, licking a stripe along the angel’s jawline, before straightening his back and looking down into his victim’s face.

His face hovered close enough Castiel could feel the heat of his breath on his lips, but he wouldn’t kiss him. 

He never did.

_He won’t give you what you want._ It growled, the voice once again a dual tone of human and demon. _No one ever will. You will_ ** _never_** _have it again_ _and the most pathetic part of it all is that you_ ** _know it._**

In the hollow spaces where Dean’s eyes should have been, Castiel could see only the black void of his own despair, while a continuous stream of hot tears leaked from his own and into the hairline at his temples.

His lips parted in a desperate gasp, “Beloved…”

Every muscle in his body was pulled taught like a bow string, ready to snap, but the demon’s skilled fingers kept him right on the knife’s edge.

_That’s right, angel,_ **_ache_ ** _for me._ The specter growled, the sound reverberating down into the angel’s bones. 

And he did. 

This wasn’t real. _He_ wasn’t real.

But god help him, he _ached_ so _deeply._

Then just as his cock swelled with the first pulse of an imminent orgasm, the demon blinked out of existence, and Castiel’s eyes snapped open.

He was still sitting on the couch peering out the window in the living area.

The morning grey of the sky had faded to a deep charcoal with the approaching evening.

The flame in the fireplace had long since been reduced to glimmering coals.

All the while cruel dark laughter rang in his ears.

  
  
  



	5. Confession and Communion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some calm before the storm...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to [fhottfitzgerald](/users/%5Bfhottfitzgerald%5D/) for providing the AMAZING AUDIO of Dean's note! It's haunting and beautiful and I'm CRYING <3

The rest of the day had been spent in and out of Evan’s small apartment, making calls and researching ways around angelic warding. Sam had the idea of using the map tracking spell Ruby had shown him all those years ago, but it proved only to narrow down Cas’s vague location to somewhere within the center of the 8400 square miles of the Black Hills National forest.

Cas suggested extracting a bit of his grace to perform a locating spell on his double but Jack insisted such a spell required more grace than Cas currently had to spare. He also expressed his doubt as to whether or not such a spell would even work to track this alter-Cas given that he was not in fact the same entity as Cas despite their similarities.

Eventually it was Evan’s off handed remark about this being a good time for a crystal ball that gave Sam an idea.

“What about a Scrying spell?” He suggested, to which Cas paused his nervous pacing across the small living area. A pained expression passed briefly over the hunter’s face before he added, “Rowena used it to find us more times than I can count.”

“What is Scrying?” Sonia asked.

“It’s a different type of locating spell.” Cas replied, shoving the white sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows having long ago dispatched the suit coat and trench coat. “It requires only some sort of reflective medium and an incantation.”

“Wait, you mean you’re actually going to use a crystal ball?” Evan asked in disbelief.

“No,” Sam said, hopping up from his seat. “We’d just need a mirror--”

Cas was already making his way toward the bathroom but Sam stopped him with a hand on his arm. 

“Cas just hold on a second.” He said, “We’ve got to think about this. Even if it does work, it’s a one way street.”

“We have no other options Sam.” Cas replied heatedly, pulling his arm free of his grasp. 

“It’s potent magic.” Sam insisted, “When Rowena used it other witches could pick up on it if she wasn’t careful. Who’s to say whether or not this other you could sense it too? If he finds you looking in on them he could move Dean again, or hurt him or--”

“Do you have another suggestion?” Cas snapped, “Dean is in danger regardless of what we do. At least this way we will have more than a huge swath of land to search..”

Sam couldn’t argue with that, but it didn’t help to calm his nerves.

“Surely it will be worth the risk?” Sonia chimed in, “and perhaps if you’re quick enough the magic will not alert the angel?”

“We have to try.” Cas agreed. “My senses are sharper; I can absorb more visual information at a glance so I will perform the spell.” To Evan he said, “I will need a candle.”

Evan bulked, freezing under the intensity of the angel’s expectant expression before jumping into action, quickly searching around his small bachelor apartment for something like a candle. He came back with a small pack of birthday candles left over from the Sheriff’s birthday cake several months ago.

“Sorry, this is all I have.” He said abashedly, handing over a pink and white striped candle along with a small pack of matches.

“It will do.” Cas replied, taking the offered items and turning once again toward the bathroom.

Once inside, he used a towel to cover the single window so he and the room around him were bathed in darkness. He then lit the tiny candle and held it aloft in the mirror, ignoring the heated drip of wax on his fingers as he recited the incantation. “ _Ostende mihi illum quem quaero”_

His reflection in the mirror wavered like rippling water before it dissipated completely, replaced by the image of a fire lit bedroom. Leaning further against the counter, the angel’s eyes instantly found the hunter on the bed in the middle of the image, sleeping soundly and seemingly unharmed. He breathed a sigh of relief at this small mercy before confusion filled him.

If he was unharmed, why had his prayer been so urgent and full of fear? What had happened? 

Further inspection revealed that the hunter laid unnaturally still in his slumber. Dean was often plagued by nightmares, but even when he was not dreaming, he often slept fitfully, tossing and turning and twisting sheets and blankets around himself. His stillness now made it clear that he had been put to sleep, just as Sam had been previously.

A possessive protectiveness flared white hot in the angel’s chest as all manner of scenario’s played out in his mind. Had Dean tried to fight, tried to escape, only to be magicked into submission by this bastardized version of himself? What must it have been like to be at the mercy of a creature who shared his face? Cas’s heart ached for his hunter’s suffering, knowing how it would hurt him to have his mind invaded such as it was. What else had he done? What if he had tampered with his mind? His memories?

The possibilities were endless and caught up as he was, Cas didn’t notice movement in the room until it was too late.

A figure dressed in black entered the image from the left, stepping carefully and with purpose until he stood directly at Cas’s eye level, blocking the sleeping hunter from view. Had there not been so many minor differences Cas could have sworn he was simply looking into the mirror instead of another place.

Identical ocean blue eyes bore into his as though the imposter could see him directly but it was not fear that gripped the angel, only a bone deep fury that left his mouth tasting of ash as the scarred reflection mouthed the words, ‘Give up. He is mine.’

Then he mouthed a string of words too quick to read, and the image of the room spasmed erratically in the mirror, flickering like a television with bad reception. Cas pressed the palm of his hand against the glass focusing his will and grace to stabilize the image amidst whatever counter spell the other angel was using. 

Arcs of electricity curled along the surface of the mirror and over Cas’s fingers like furious serpents, spitting out frenetic energy in frenzied waves. The moment their grace clashed it created a swirling vortex around Cas; the eye of a storm inside the tiny bathroom. 

“YOU CAN’T HAVE HIM!” Cas roared over the cutting edge of the air whipping around him, bracing himself against an answering surge of power that slammed into him like a train, but he refused to look away.

He was barely holding on, just managing to catch a glimpse of the surrounding forest and lake before he was abruptly overpowered; the intensity of it exploding outward, shattering the mirror and swatting him backward like an insect.

He hit the opposite wall with enough force to crack the tile on impact before landing hard on the floor, glass showering down around him. 

Urgent footfalls and shouting from outside the door indicated that the other’s had heard the commotion, and then suddenly the bathroom door was being thrown open, Sam’s tall frame taking up the entire doorway while Jack, Evan and Sonia peered in from his flank.

“Cas!” The younger hunter called out when he couldn’t see the angel immediately.

Cas’s only response was a pained grunt from the floor. Something was broken or dislocated, he couldn’t tell which, the pain of it spidering up his back and stealing his breath. The crunch of glass under Sam’s boots was loud in the silence as he made his way over to the angel, Jack at his heels.

“Oh god!” Evan cried out, taking in the state of his bathroom. “What in the world happened here?!”

“I found him.” Cas replied, attempting to stand but finding that his left arm was useless, the shoulder having been the joint dislocated on impact with the wall. Jack was once again at his side, helping him up along with Sam. When he held up a hand to heal, Cas pushed it away with a shake of his head. “Save your strength.” He ordered, before nodding to Sam to take care of his shoulder.

**  
  
**

Sam gave a hum of acknowledgment, quickly taking Jack’s place and maneuvering his hands into the correct positions to pop the joint back into place. “Okay, on three,” He announced, “One--”

The sudden jolt of movement punched the breath out of Cas like a physical blow, the pain spiking and then quickly diminishing to a dull ache once the procedure was complete. From the doorway Evan flinched as he watched, his face pale, while Sonia stepped carefully over the threshold, taking in the extent of the damage done to the bathroom.

“What happened?” She repeated Evan’s earlier question, her voice awestruck by the state of the room.

“He was there,” Cas replied, his voice a dark rumble as he recalled the other angel’s voiceless words. “The other me.”

Sam cursed under his breath, “Then he knows we’re onto him.”

“He does, but doesn’t appear to be threatened.” Cas replied gruffly, cradling his left arm over his chest to keep it immobile. “He told me to ‘Give up’ because Dean was ‘his’.”

“His?” Sam parroted momentarily confused before realization washed over him like ice water, his expression pinching into disgusted disbelief, “You mean like--”

“Yes.” Cas affirmed too loudly for the small space, not wanting to hear the words spoken aloud. He didn’t dare look anyone in the face lest they see the extent of how much it affected him not because he couldn’t understand it, but because he _could._ The moment Cas had seen the other angel place himself between him and Dean, the same possessive instinct had flared within him. “He enacted some sort of counter spell, but the surge of power came directly from him, not the magic. I was expecting him to be stronger than me but this was unnatural; he’s enhanced somehow.

“Of course he is.” Sam growled sardonically, “Because nothing can ever be cut and dry. Did you at least get a location before he blasted you?”

“Yes.” The angel replied confidently, stepping over the glass to exit the bathroom. Sonia and Evan moved aside to let him pass while Sam and Jack followed him out. “He’s in the Black Hills of South Dakota in a cabin at the northernmost edge of a large isolated lake with no civilization in any direction for at least 20 miles.”

“That’s still so vague.” Evan chimed in, worry permeating his voice. 

“A twenty mile radius is better than 8400.” Jack remarked, “And even though it was brief, Cas said that Dean’s prayer came from the center of the forest and now we know there’s a large lake and how far away from any city it is. If we add it all together, we should be able to get an approximate location!”

“I’ll pull up a map,” Sam affirmed while Sonia flit around the kitchen to fetch some ice for Cas’s shoulder. 

While Jack helped Cas sit as gently as he could in the single armchair available in the living room, Sam set to work looking for the lake the angel had seen in the mirror.

“Cas…?” Jack began in a low voice so as not to alert Sam or the others. “When you saw Dean was he--is he okay?”

Cas could tell his son was trying to put on a strong front but the small crease at his brow was all the indication he needed to understand just how worried he was for the man who was, for all intents and purposes, his other father.

“He was unharmed.” He assured the young man with a pat on the back of the hand still clasped over his forearm. Jack gave him a small smile and nod before stepping away.

Sonia returned a moment later with a bag of ice wrapped in a cloth towel, which the angel took with a nod of thanks and pressed into his aching shoulder. 

“There are three large lakes in the area our first spell indicated Dean could be.” Sam stated, while Jack came to peer over his shoulder. The nephilim circled the area Cas had instructed him to reach his senses out to with his finger, indicating where the prayer had originated, narrowing it down to two lakes.

“Pactola lake and Deerfield lake,” Sam read out loud. “Both are near the center and remote enough for any reasonable civilization to be miles away.” He brought up both scenic and aerial views of the lakes and turned his laptop to show Cas.

After scrutinizing all of the images, the angel indicated the latter. “Deerfield” He confirmed with heat in his eyes before attempting to get up. “We have to go--”

“Not so fast.” Sonia chided, placing enough pressure on the ice pack to keep the angel in his seat. “First of all, it’s nearly evening. A drive up to the Black Hills from here will be a few hours. By the time you got there it would be dark and you are injured--”

“I’ll heal in the time it takes us to get there” Cas insisted, more anger seeping into his tone than he intended.

“Secondly,” Sonia spoke right over him, keeping her hand on his shoulder when he attempted to get up again. “You just got through telling us that this angel is more powerful than he should be and you want to go rushing into his den without a plan of action? Do you love this man he took from you or not?”

Silence flooded the apartment. Sam’s brows were once again lost in his hairline and he pointedly found something on his monitor incredibly interesting. Sonia was voicing something he had suspected for years, but despite his curiosity it still felt like an invasion to appear too interested in the answer. Jack on the other hand, peered at the angel in rapt attention.

“I--” Cas faltered, caught off guard by the direct question. He felt sudden sympathy for Evan over Jack’s earlier exclamation about his attraction to this girl. Apprehension flared low in the pit of his belly. He knew she would catch a lie in an instant, but setting that aside, he found that he didn’t _want_ to lie. No one had ever put the question to him so simply; it was almost a relief to finally say it aloud. “I do.”

Sam’s head snapped up at the admission while Jack’s face simply split into a beaming grin.

“Such as I suspected.” Sonia replied matter of factly, “Now do the sensible thing and come up with a plan. We now know the approximate location, but we also know that this angel will now be expecting you to rush in for a rescue. Despite your many differences, you are both still the same person. What would you do to prevent an assault on your fortress, to protect your love?”

Cas thought for a moment, before he glanced around the room at all the faces waiting for his response. “I would...ward the entire area around the lake.” He began, “Both to hide us and keep others out.”

“So we’ll look for a blackout.” Sam replied, “What else?”

“I would anticipate Dean’s attempts to reach out or escape.” Cas went on, thinking more like a tactician now, “ Restraints and force will not work on him; he would only fight that much harder.” Anger swelled within him, his hand twisting into a fist against the arm of the chair. “We should anticipate that Dean will be under some sort of influence.”

“You think this other guy will get into his head?” Sam asked, incredulous. 

Cas hesitated, glancing at Jack before he nodded solemnly. “When I saw him, he slept with an unnatural stillness. He was unharmed, but I suspect he was put to sleep much like you were. As of right now we should assume that his mind was manipulated when he was abducted as well.”

“What about weapons?” Evan suggested, “What sort of weapons would even hurt and angel?”

“Angel blades.” Cas replied automatically. “He’ll likely have his own and if he knew a counter spell to the scrying from memory we should anticipate he knows other forms of magic as well.” 

“I’ve got some general supplies in the trunk. We’ll make up some hex bags to cancel out the basics.” Sam interjected.

“Good.” Cas replied. Then suddenly an idea struck him. He leaned forward on to his knees, eyes a bit manic with the notion. “Sam. You need to pray to me.”

“Wait...what?”

“I’m not completely certain, but I have a suspicion that he can hear the prayers directed at me. Earlier when I heard Dean, it was so loud but then abruptly silent. Then seeing Dean so clearly put to sleep...this imposter must have put him under to prevent him from reaching out through prayer again.”

“How will praying to you help then?”

“False indication.” The angel replied, “Lead him to believe I am near but in the wrong location. He is possessive, he wants Dean for himself, and he will not tolerate me being near, even remotely. He will go to the location you pray to if he suspects I am a threat--”

“And we can trap him.” Sam finished, nodding along. “Then you should be able to get to Dean.”

“What if he doesn’t fall for it?” Jack asked, “Will he be fooled by a false prayer?”

“There’s no way to know for certain.” Cas sighed, sitting back once again and running a hand over his face. “But it’s the best plan I can come up with. If it falls through, then I will have to face him directly.”

“You should plan for that altercation.” Sonia spoke up firmly, “If he is you, then surely these scenarios have already played through his head. What would you need to defeat him?”

“With his power, very few things will probably hurt him. I’m not sure even an angel blade would do much damage to him. The best I would be able to do is buy us time with a banishing sigil.” Cas thought aloud.

“Then that’s the plan?” Jack concluded. “A false prayer to lead him into a trap and if that doesn’t work, blast him across the world for a few hours while we try to find Dean?”

“Those seem to be our best options.” Cas replied. “Sam?”

Sam nodded solemnly, “It’s a long shot, but what other choice do we have?”

“Then it’s decided.” Sonia chirped with a clap of her hands, “We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

“No way.” Sam said at once, closing his laptop with a firm click. “Look, we appreciate all your help so far, but there is no way we are bringing civilians into a fight with a hyper powerful angel. He’s already proven he can kill without discretion. It’s too dangerous.”

“I have to agree with Sam.” Cas stated. “We cannot risk your lives.”

“I wasn’t asking.” Sonia said through a narrowed gaze.

“Neither are we.” Sam replied firmly.

The pair squared off for a moment before the young woman seemed to deflate, albeit with some scorn. “Fine.” She replied, “But you will call us when you arrive and when you find your brother.”

Sam’s expression cracked just a bit at her almost maternal direction. “Alright,” He acquiesced. “You have my word.”

She seemed appeased for the moment but her expression told the hunter she would not let this go without a fight. 

In lue of all that had happened, Sam suddenly felt exhausted despite the early evening hours. He suggested that they find a room for the night, but Evan waved him off. “Sleep here.” He insisted, “The couch unfolds into a queen for when my parents visit, and one of you can have my room.”

“I don’t sleep.” Jack chirped with a smile to which Evan nodded along though he was clearly lost. 

“Neither do I,” Cas confirmed, “Sam you should take the fold out.”

“I’ll take the bed then,” Sonia stated, while Evan sputtered an embarrassed protest at her side.

“Miss Ivanovna th-that’s not proper--”

“Тише, милый мальчик. (Hush, dear boy.)” Sonia tutted. “Before we all hunker down though, we should eat dinner. No sense going to bed on empty stomachs on the eve of battle.”

“I have to check back in with Sheriff Briggs before I end my shift.” Evan stated, “I could pick something up.”

“I’ll go with you!” Jack announced. 

“I hope it goes without saying that all of the supernatural stuff has to stay between us.” Sam commented.

“Don’t worry, ‘Agent Scholtz’.” Evan replied goodnaturedly, “Your secret identity is safe with me.”

“I’ll clean up the bathroom while you’re gone.” Cas promised, once again attempting to stand, only to have Sam wave him off. 

“Cas, sit. You’re hurt. I’ve got it.” To Evan, the hunter asked, “Where’s your broom?”

With a frustrated sigh, Cas looked on while Evan revealed the location of his cleaning cabinet before leaving with Jack to get food. When Sam disappeared into the bathroom with the broom and dust pan, Cas was left alone with Sonia who primly perched on the arm rest to his left and gestured to his arm.

“Alright, take it off, let me see.”

“I’m fine.” Cas insisted.

She pinched the soft skin behind his upper arm through his shirt sleeve, startling a pained yelp from him.

“No wonder the pair of you aren’t together yet, you’re incredibly stubborn.”

Cas froze giving the young woman an in to get a few of the buttons of his shirt undone before his brain rebooted and batted her hands away. She countered with her own batting until Cas finally won out with the compromise of unbuttoning his own buttons while she watched hawkishly from the sidelines.

Once the shirt was free of his injured shoulder, Sonia took the rag and ice bag away to inspect the area. Some minor swelling around the shoulder was to be expected, but further down near his shoulder blade a brilliant purple bruise had bloomed across most of the left side of his upper back where he’d hit the wall.

“It looks worse than it feels,” He assured her when he saw her pinched expression.

“You are a terrible liar.” She muttered as she poked and prodded around the edges of the bruise, drawing sharp inhales and gasps from the angel to prove her point. “How you have managed to keep such secrets for so long is beyond me.”

Before Cas could say a word she was up and trotting off to the bathroom, asking Sam briefly to hand a few items through the door from the cabinets before coming back to the living area with a bottle of alcohol, a bag of cotton balls and a swatch of bandages.

“That really isn’t necessary--”

“Тишина (Hush).” Sonia tutted sweetly, “If not for your own sake, then allow me to keep my nervous hands busy.” 

Cas met her eyes briefly, feeling guilty for his insensitivity before nodding and turning just so to give his back, his injured arm once again curled against his chest

“Forgive me,” He said with a sigh, like Sam, feeling suddenly exhausted from all that had occurred in the short time he’d been there. “You’ve been so level headed since we met, I forget this is all new to you.”

“It is new, that’s true.” She replied in kind, “But these new realities are not what concern me my friend. My nerves are for you and your man.”

A blush darkened Cas’s face at the turn of phrase. “Dean is not mine. He doesn’t belong to anyone.”

Sonia hummed softly as she dabbed alcohol onto the broken skin at the center of the bruise where the tile had cut the skin through his shirt. The vague response put Cas on edge and he couldn’t help thinking back to all her previous statements pertaining to the relationship between himself and the hunter, chiefly her question about love. He tried to push it away, knowing it was not important in the face of what they had yet to do, but in this quiet moment, with all eyes busy elsewhere, he couldn’t resist.

“You knew.” He said softly, barely above a whisper. “You knew without a word, but he doesn’t know.”

“He knows.” Sonia replied easily, her gentle fingers blotting the moist cotton against his skin, cleaning where she could. “I promise you, Мой друг (my friend). Your love is plain in every gesture you make despite how you try to hide it. It makes me wonder why you bother.”

Cas looked away, shame and sadness filling him. “Our lives have been chaotic from the start” He confessed. “There simply hasn’t been an opportunity…” He could sense her reluctance to believe him, and he realized for the first time that perhaps it was because it wasn’t true... “Just before all of this,” Cas continued after a moment of deliberation, “We were...repairing our friendship. Much has happened between us in the years we’ve known one another. I wish I could say it was our first falling out but…” He trailed off, shaking off the still raw hurt that afflicted him despite their road to recovery, “After this latest hunt, Dean wanted to...talk. I was looking forward to it.”

“A true love story.” Sonia smiled conspiratorially, “Think of how brilliant such a confession will be when you swoop in to sweep him off his feet, delivering him from the belly of the beast.”

Cas gave a small chuckle despite himself. “You certainly have an imagination,” but after a moment his face fell, “It's a strange feeling. Usually, Dean is the hero risking his life to save someone else. If anything, I have been the reason lately that everything seems to go wrong…”

The echo of Dean’s own accusation rang in his words, and in the darker recesses of his mind where all the shadows of his past lingered, it taunted him with his many failures.

“And yet here you are despite that.” Sonia pointed out, “Love is not about perfection, mой друг (my friend.). It is about continuing to be present despite imperfections and mistakes.”

A sudden memory for a distant moment in time hit the angel with a shocking force.

_I’d rather have you, cursed or not._

His throat constricted with emotion and it took Sonia’s faint cooing of , “Все в порядке, мой друг, я здесь. (It’s okay, my friend, I am here.)” and her gentle caressing fingers in his hair to realize he was crying. He brought a stunned hand to his face to swipe at the tears slipping over his cheeks before the swelling pressure in his chest finally burst, his breath hitching as the first sob broke free.

Sonia gently guided him into an embrace, cradling his head against her shoulder, muttering sweet reassurances to him. She caught movement in her periphery, her eyes darting over to find Sam frozen in the hallway connecting to the back bedroom and bathroom, his own eyes glossy and wide with shock.

She gave him a small smile, and waved him over. He seemed to hesitate, unsure for a moment before he steeled himself and cleared his throat to make his presence known. Cas pulled back from the girl, sniffling and brushing the moisture on his face away as Sam came to sit on the sofa kiddy corner to them.

“Hey man, it’s alright.” He said soothingly when the angel couldn’t meet his eyes. “All of this is getting to me too, but we’re close now. After tomorrow, we’ll have him back.”

Sonia silently resumed her task, carefully tearing open the packet containing a sterile bandage and pressing it gingerly over the area on Cas’s back she had cleaned. Once properly dressed, she patted the angel’s shoulder and stood up from the arm of the chair.

“The debris in the bathroom is cleaned up?” She asked.

“Yeah. I swept and whipped out the sink and shower if you need it.” He replied.

“Yes, good. Thank you. I’ll go freshen up and be back out by the time the boys return. Excuse me.”

And just like that, Sam and Cas were alone.

For a long moment tense silence stretched out between them, neither willing nor able to look the other in the face before Sam finally swallowed his discomfort and spoke up.

“Did you mean it?.” The hunter asked, earning him a confused tilt of the angel’s head. “What you said about...love?”

Cas inhaled sharply, his eyes flickering away before slowly coming back to level the younger Winchester with an expression of open honesty.

“Yes.” He replied simply.

“Good. I’m glad.” Sam then huffed a small laugh, “It’s been a long time coming.”

Cas blinked in surprise, “You knew…?”

“Dude, the whole world knew.” Sam replied teasingly. “I love you guys but you’re both pig-headed stubborn idiots.”

“Both…?” Cas asked haltingly.

“See, this is what I’m talking about.” The hunter said earnestly, finally breaking the rule about minding his own business. He took a breath to calm his nerves before he stated with absolute certainty, “He loves you too, man. He thought he was being sneaky trying to plan this big grand gesture and speech for you when we got back but I found his...drafts.”

Another owlish blink from the angel had Sam hopping up from his seat and fishing around the inner pockets of his jacket which hung on a hook near the front door. After some shuffling around he returned, handing off what appeared to be a few fast food napkins covered in the familiar slanted scrawlings of Dean’s handwriting.

**([Dean's Note Audio](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1IxMAaGcD4Hb6f4Alf_PWiXNUT3Qwaqto/view?usp=sharing))**

~~_Buddy_ ~~ _Cas, there’s some things_

 _~~I~~ _ ~~_’ve been meaning to_ ~~

~~_you need to know_ ~~ _I have to tell you._

 _I_ ~~ _’m a fuck up_~~ _I ~~’ve been an assholeI~~_ ~~_I’ve been an idiot_~~

 _I can be a lot to deal with but I’m done_ ~~_being a chicken shit_ ~~

_being afraid of being honest with you._

_I ~~haven’t been the most understanding~~ _

~~_I_ _’ve been hard on you_ ~~

_I’ve mistreated you_ ~~_but for some reason, you keep forgiving me_ ~~

_and saying I’m sorry_ ~~_doesn’t even come close to covering it_ ~~

_is only the start of how I want to make it up to you._

_I’ve been thinking ~~about~~ _ ~~_all of us_ ~~

_you and me since we got back from purgatory and_ _I think i ~~t’s about time~~ _

_it's passed time that you know_ ~~_why_ ~~ _the truth._

 _Cas,_ ~~_you’re my best friend_ _you’re my family_~~

 _you mean everything to me. I need you, Cas. Not the powers, not the wings or the halo;_ **_YOU._ **

_I need you like ~~I need to breathe.~~_ ~~..~~

**  
  
**

The rest was just a collection of indecipherable scribbles scratched out to the point that the pen had torn a hole in that last napkin near the bottom as though Dean hadn’t been able to figure out the correct words to use and gotten frustrated. Cas swallowed hard around the lump in his throat, refolding the delicate material and passing it back to Sam, but the hunter shook his head.

“They’re his words for you, Cas, you should keep them.” He said gently.

The angel nodded slowly, not trusting himself to say anything more than, “Thank you, Sam.”

Just then, a sharp knock at the door broke their touching moment. The pair exchanged mutual looks of apprehension before Sam carefully and quietly made his way over to the door to peer out the peephole. 

His stomach fell through the floor.

“Open up ‘Agent Scholtz’!” Came a loud skeptical female voice through the door. “Or should I say, ‘Agent Con Man’. I know you aren’t FBI and I _will_ call the Sheriff if you don’t let me in _right now!”_

Gretchen.

**  
  
  
**


	6. Bait and Switch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK BITCHES!

Cas was up and out of the chair in an instant, his face a storm of impatience and irritation that contrasted sharply with the vulnerable curl of his injured arm over his chest. Before Sam could stop him, the angel was jerking open the apartment door to stare down the young woman on the other side with a glare that made the hunter’s palms sweat.

“Who are you?” Cas demanded harshly, his tone absolutely unrelenting. 

For her part, Gretchen looked, for once, taken aback. Her fist still hung in the air from where she had been pounding on the door, her dark painted eyes blinking owlishly where she stood pinned under the angel’s glare. After a moment, she seemed to reboot, drawing her hand in close to her chest and taking a half step back, her own apathetic glare falling back into place.

“You must be ‘Agent Dolp.’” Gretchen accused with a single air quote. “I can’t believe this--”

“My name is Castiel,” Cas replied curtly. “Who told you about us?”

“Cas what’re you--” Sam sputtered in disbelief.

“So you’re just going to openly admit that you’ve both been lying to the police about being federal agents?” She retaliated with open skepticism. “You really don’t get how the criminal thing works, do you--?

She sputtered out when Cas advanced on her. The movement was barely more than a step, but the angel made an intimidating sight with his chest puffed out, and his back ramrod straight. To her credit, Gretchen held her ground, squaring her shoulders, lifting her chin and defiantly meeting his glare. 

“The only people who knew both of those names already know they don’t exist,” Cas told her gruffly.

Sam’s eyes widened. He could practically see the threatening aura radiating off the angel and so inserted himself into the conversation in an attempt to de-escalate the tension. He looked back in Gretchen’s direction with reproach.

“Listen, how about we all just calm down and talk about this, alright?” The hunter tried, but Cas wasn’t having any of it. 

“I will ask you once more.” Cas growled, taking one more step toward her, now standing just outside the threshold, “Who are you, and  _ who told you about us? _ ”

“Cas man, calm down,” Sam warned, his hand falling on the angel’s shoulder to hold him back.

“Is everything alright?” Came a voice from behind them.

Sam glanced back to find Sonia stepping into the living room from the hall, towel still in hand squeezing the moisture out of her pale hair. The moment her eyes landed on Gretchen, her face fell.

“Oh.” She said flatly, “It’s you.”

Just then, footsteps and laughter in the stairwell drew everyone’s attention as Evan and Jack rounded the corner at the end of the hall, chattering away with one another, bags in hand until Jack caught sight of everyone in the doorway and stopped in his tracks. It took him only a moment to take in his father’s expression and body language, as well as Sam’s, to understand what was going on.

Evan was a bit slower on the uptake, confused as to why Jack stopped speaking mid sentence until he finally took a look, seeming completely shocked to discover the scene outside his apartment door.

“What’s going on here--?” He began uncertainly until his eyes fell on Gretchen. Immediately, his entire demeanor shifted, his typically easy posture straightening, his expression hardening. “Gretchen, what are you doing here?” He hissed, taking a few long strides toward her

She tossed Cas a haughty triumphant expression before turning to address Evan with an air of such superiority it was almost as though she were exaggerating for effect just for the young man.

“Oh good, Adams, I have it on good authority that these men are criminals impersonating federal agents.”

Evan’s expression remained unchanged though his eyes darted over to Cas and Sam in silent question;  _ did you tell her? _

Cas moved his head minutely in response;  _ No. _

“Alright, everyone inside.” Evan insisted. “The hallway is no place for this conversation.”

Gretchen’s smug expression fell into utter disbelief. “You can’t be serious!” She squawked. “I’m not going in there with them, they’re criminals! You’ve got to call the Sheriff, or arrest them! Something!”

“Perhaps if you weren’t so enamored with your own voice and listened, you would understand why that hasn’t happened!” Sonia spoke up heatedly from behind Cas.

Gretchen turned on her instantly, “Butt out comrade barbie, no one asked you.”

Before Sonia could retaliate, Cas moved just enough to place himself between the two women, his dislike of this stranger deepening with every word out of her mouth, but Evan was right. This was a delicate matter that required privacy to speak.

“Officer Adams is correct, we should all go back inside.”

“So you can try to feed me whatever bullshit story you fed these idiots? Yeah right--”

“Gretchen, for once in your life will you shut the hell up and listen to me?” Evan barked.

Everyone seemed taken aback by the outburst from the typically soft spoken young man, Gretchen most of all. She looked as though she wanted to protest further, but Evan simply marched passed her, shouldering passed Sam and Cas with an expression of overwhelming frustration. Sonia met him just inside, offering assistance with the take out bags still in his hands.

Cas gave this ‘Gretchen’ one more once over before glancing over to Jack who was still standing just down the hall. For a moment they locked eyes and then Cas nodded toward the apartment before turning and striding back inside. Jack sidestepped Gretchen with a sheepish half smile and a muttered “‘scuse me,” before trotting after his father.

Sam was the only one who lingered in the doorway. He eyed the young woman apprehensively but gestured inside nonetheless. “I know you don’t think so right now, but we  _ can  _ explain everything.”

“Pfft. That’s exactly what the guilty ones always say.” She snapped before stalking passed him into the apartment.

Sonia assisted Evan and Jack with the bags; assembling a variable feast of Chinese take out boxes over Evan’s small dining table tucked up behind the sofa. 

“I’m sorry I don’t have much by the way of space to sit.” He apologized, “It’s pretty rare I have more than two other people here at a time--”

“I think we all know there’s no ragers happening here, Adams.” Gretchen mocked from near the front door, keeping her distance as far from the rest of them as she could while still being in the same room.

“No one is asking you,  _ comrade _ .” Sonia quipped cooly on his behalf, not bothering to spare the antagonistic young woman a glance before gesturing to Jack, Sam and Cas. “Come eat.”

“Must be the mob mentality, huh?” Gretchen sneered, “Used to taking care of criminals like family?”

“Enough!” Castiel barked. Everyone fell silent in the wake of his heated exclamation, the entire room utterly still as he approached the young woman. “You’ve made accusations far outside of the realm of information you should have been privy to, so I will ask you  _ one more time _ .” His fist twisted into the front of her loose black knit sweater and pressed her back into the door. “ _ Who. Told. You.” _

Gretchen peered up at him with wide fearful eyes, shocked not by the strength of the hand holding her in place, but by the light glowing in the center of his pupils like small embers ready to ignite.

“I--” She began in a shaking voice, every ounce of her vibrato lost.

A hand on Cas’s shoulder gave him pause, and when he turned, he was surprised to see it belonged to Jack. “Father, please put her down.” He asked quietly, his expression soft with empathy. “You're scaring the others.”

Cas’s eyes flickered beyond his son’s shoulder to find Evan and Sonia peering at him with very real fear in their eyes, while Sam looked on with a hard tight expression, ready to jump to action at any moment. When he looked back at Gretchen, he realized belatedly and with some horror, that he had in fact pressed her into the door so hard her feet were dangling above the floor by several inches.

The moment he set her back down, Gretchen was skittering around him and across the room. Evan caught her and she clung to him with trembling hands.

“Cas--?” Sam began, but the angel cut him off.

“I need some air.” He insisted, before promptly wrenching the door back open, stalking out, and slamming it behind himself hard enough to rattle the front window.

It was silent for a moment after his exit before Gretchen finally exclaimed, “Thanks for the fucking help!” and shoved herself bodily away from Evan and nervously readjusted her sweater.

“Please don’t be angry with him.” Jack beseeched her. “A member of our family has been kidnapped and he is very upset.”

“What--?!” She began before Sam laid a hand over her shoulder and passed her a small bowl of rice and veggies.

“Take a seat, Gretchen,” He insisted with his best imploring tone, “It's a long story.”

* * *

  
  
  


Outside, Cas fumbled for a moment with the passenger side door of the impala, his uninjured hand awkward from lack of use, before all but throwing himself inside and yanking the door shut behind him. He could practically hear Dean’s voice admonishing him for the mistreatment of his car.

He felt as though he was lost at sea, adrift with naught but skeletal planks separating him from the abyss below which threatened to consume him. His eyes burned, hot tears threatening to spill over. Blood rushed in his ears. He wanted to  _ hurt _ something; he’d very nearly hurt that girl. 

He thought of Dean’s handwriting on the napkins and felt a desperate sinking feeling in his stomach.

_ Cas, you mean everything to me. _

_ I need you like I need to breathe... _

He leaned forward over his lap, the fingers of his uninjured arm gripping and flexing at the lip of the bench seat while he tried to ignore the escalating pressure in his chest. His breathing came in erratic bursts as something very close to panic began to eat away at him from the inside. So depleted as he was on grace, his emotions were dangerously close to flying out of his control.

Dean loved him.

Dean  **_loved_ ** him…

...but there was no elation in the revelation. No relief or warmth.

There was only a bone deep despair...

...because Cas, stupid and desperate and miserable as he was, had made a deal.

_ When you finally give yourself permission to be happy, to let the sun shine on your face, that’s when I’ll come to drag you to Nothing. _

The echo of the shadow’s vow sent a tremor through the angel’s body, a strangled sob catching in his throat as he curled in on himself, fingers twisting in his own hair as the tears finally came. 

It felt as though he’d never be able to stop when the gentle wrap of knuckles on glass startled a sound out of him halfway between a yelp and a sob. Snapping his head up, the angel’s eyes fell on Jack who stood just outside the door with an expression of intense concern written across his young features.

Cursing under his breath, Cas swiped his shirt sleeve across his face to clean up the worst of the mess he’d made, before moving to open the door. Jack stepped back to allow him to heave himself out, but the moment the door shut, the young man was on him, wrapping his arms firmly around the angel’s waist in a comforting hug strong enough to earn a gentle  _ oof  _ as Cas settled back against the impala.

It took Cas a moment to reciprocate, feeling more vulnerable in front of his son than he ever had, but eventually, he wound his good arm around the boy’s shoulders and squeezed, allowing his cheek to rest in the soft hair on the crown of his head.

For a long moment, they stood together like that, leaning up against the side of the impala. The closeness helped calm the angel substantially, until at long last he gently pulled his son away, somewhat stunned to see tear tracks lining his cheeks.

“Jack--?” He began, lifting his hand to wipe them away.

“I could feel you.” Jack replied gently, his voice hoarse with emotion, “Hurting out here by yourself. I thought you were just worried about Dean, but it’s more than that, isn’t it? You wouldn’t hurt so deeply or so loudly otherwise.”

When it looked as though Cas was going to dismiss it as nothing substantial, Jack took a step back and leveled him with an intensity that rivaled his own.

“Tell me the truth.” The Nephilim demanded earnestly, “I’ll know if you’re lying.”

* * *

  
  
  


“So,” Sam spoke up after some minutes of silence. He had spent the better part of forty-five minutes getting Gretchen up to speed, only to have her barely contain her skepticism despite Evan and Sonia supplementing his explanation with their own experiences. “You can understand why my friend was quick on the jump earlier?”

“Yeah, sure.” She replied but didn’t sound entirely sincere.

“Gretchen,” Evan began, sounding stern, “Castiel asked you before who told you about them. I think now would be a good time to tell us what you know.”

Gretchen met his eyes, something in her face softening, though Sam couldn’t tell if it was in response to Evan, or if it was her own resignation to the facts presented to her. With a sigh, she set her mostly untouched bowl of food aside and stood up to pace away from them.

“That’s just it,” She said, her voice small and uncertain; a strange sound for the boldness of her appearance. When she turned back to them, seeing them all attentive, the last bit of whatever was holding her back seemed to crumble. In a rush, she told them, “I got a call from the real agent Scholtz.”

Sam’s brows knit together, instantly on edge. “What do you mean, ‘the real’ agent?”

“Just what I said,” She said with a roll of her eyes. “As soon as I picked up the phone, he told me who he was. When you get calls about fraudulent federal agents, you take it pretty seriously.”

“Not seriously enough to alert the authorities though,” Sonia piped up, skeptical.

Gretchen cast her a withering glare, “I wanted to check up on Evan first, sue me.” She snapped, before addressing Sam again. “He was with you when you left the office, so I came over immediately to make sure he was alright and tell him what I knew. That’s when I saw the car.”

“How did you know it belonged to us?” Sam demanded, “Evan gave me a ride in a squad car when I came to see you, you never saw it.”

“The guy on the phone described  _ everything; the car, you, the angel _ . He even knew about the case. Why do you think I was so quick to believe him?”

That caught Sam off guard, though he noted she didn’t mention any knowledge of Jack. “He knew about the Hishov murder?” 

“Yeah,” She looked away then, almost ashamed. “He...wanted to know how far you had gotten on the case. What you had asked about and who you had talked to--”

“What did you tell him?!” Sonia demanded shrilly, her expression suddenly furious.

“Obviously I told him what I knew!” Gretchen snapped back, bristling under the other woman’s scrutiny. “I’m just a lab tech, alright? Lying about stuff like this is way above my pay grade.”

“Did you tell him about my mother?!” Sonia demanded again, jumping to her feet.

Gretchen’s eyes went a bit wide, but her silence was answer enough.

“Ты глупая девчонка! (You stupid girl!)” Sonia screeched, lunging for her. “Если с ней что-нибудь случится, я заставлю тебя пожалеть об этом! (If anything happens to her, I’ll make you regret it!)”

Sam darted in front of Gretchen, placing himself between them to stave off an imminent assault.

“Sonia, stop!” Evan tried to calm her, catching her by the shoulders. She struggled but he managed to steer the emotional young woman away from the living room and into the kitchen out of sight.

For her part, Gretchen looked pale with guilt. “I--I didn’t mean to--I just--”

Taking pity on her, Sam turned toward her and said in a sympathetic tone, “You did what you thought you had to, I can’t blame you for that. Once she calms down, I’m sure Sonia will see that too.”

“You don’t know her very well then,” Gretchen replied under her breath.

With everything that had happened so far, and how involved they all were now with this situation, Sam couldn’t hold back any longer. “We’re all involved in this together now, so I have to know; what’s the deal between you three?”

Unsurprisingly, Gretchen’s face flushed and she looked away in a huff of annoyance, confirming Sam’s suspicion without saying a word.

“It’s Evan, right?” He asked in a low voice, “You both have a thing for him?”

She scoffed but didn’t deny it. Instead, she replied sharply, “You aren't a real fed so I don’t have to tell you squat.”

Muffled spews of angry Russian could be heard from the kitchen, along with Evan’s soothing tenor, but he was speaking too low to understand. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave off the tension headache he could feel creeping its way into his temples.

“Did this agent tell you anything else?” He asked offhandedly, exhausted. 

“No, but…” She trailed off for a moment, her hands fidgeting with the overlong sleeves of her knit sweater. 

Sam glanced over at her expectantly, “What is it?”

She seemed unsure, but when she met his eyes, he could tell it was something big and braced himself.

“It’s just...after talking to you again, I’m starting to realize that...well...he sounded exactly like you.”

“Wha--Like me?” Sam parroted, stunned.

“It’s really weird.” She explained, shifting her weight nervously from foot to foot. “His accent was sharper, more...eloquent? He sounded like a snob, but the tone was definitely identical.” She insisted. 

An alarm bell went off in the hunter’s brain. If they were dealing with another Cas...could they also be dealing with another him? The thought made his head pound harder.

“There was one more thing,” Gretchen spoke up again, sounding more confident now that she had admitted this strange coincidence. “Just before he hung up, I heard a woman’s voice in the background.”

“A woman?” The hunter seemed even more confused. 

“She sounded foreign, real thick accent. Scottish maybe?”

Sam’s heart gave a violent thump against his rib cage, his hand falling slowly away from his face. “Did you hear what she was saying…?”

Gretchen shook her head, “She sounded informative like she was reporting some information, but I couldn’t make out the words, sorry.”

Just then, a cell phone ringtone interrupted their conversation. Sam’s hand immediately jumped to palm his pocket, hastily pulling out his own phone, but only a blank screen met him when he could finally get a look at it.

Then the ringing cut off and from the kitchen, Sam heard a slew of angry Russian, followed by the sharp click of flats on linoleum. Sonia appeared around the corner a moment later, Evan at her shoulder, her face flushed and her eyes glistening. For a long moment she glared at Gretchen with a lethality that made the young woman shiver, but then her eyes shifted to Sam, and she extended the phone, her phone, toward him.

“It’s for you.” She hissed venomously.

Sam stared in disbelief at the offered device before taking it from her and lifting it to his ear.

“Hello?” He asked, his voice tight with apprehension.

_ “Hello Samuel.”  _ A familiar feminine voice greeted him.

Sam felt ill. The voice was duller than he remembered; something crucial and bright was missing. She sounded...worn out? Sad?

“Rowena?” He managed to ask. His voice sounded disbelieving even to his own ears. 

_ “Always a smart boy.”  _ She said.  _ “I trust that by now you’ve had a conversation with the girl?” _

Sam glanced at the girl in question, and Gretchen peered back at him, white as a ghost.

“Yes.” He replied stiffly.

_ “Good.”  _ Rowena affirmed dryly,  _ “We have the old woman. She very helpfully provided us with lodgings for the evening and told us some very interesting things. Come back to the house and bring the whole motley crew, will you? Loose ends are a bother.” Be _ fore Sam could protest, she added,  _ “Try anything foolish, and we will kill her, do you understand?” _

Sam’s entire body went stiff as a board, his lips pressing into a thin angry line.

“I understand.”

_ “Grand.”  _ She hummed,  _ “Try to be punctual my dear.  _ _ À bientôt! (see you soon!)” _

When the line cut out, Sam slowly lowered his hand away from his face, trying to maintain a sense of calm despite the storm of emotions inside him. 

“Who was that woman?!” Sonia demanded, “What did she want?!”

Sam steeled himself for the reveal, still reeling from the call himself, “She was my--” He stopped, an emotional knot in his chest making it difficult to speak. After clearing his throat, he continued, “In this world, she was a friend. Unfortunately, I think we’re dealing with more than one doppelganger from another reality…”

“What does that mean!?” Sonia exclaimed, “How did she have my phone number--” but she cut herself off as it seemed to dawn on her without Sam having to say a word. “She is with my mother.”

Sam looked away as he replied, “Yes…”

For all her brevity and understanding before, Sonia seemed to crumble beneath this new knowledge. Her knees gave out though Evan was close by to catch her with a startled yelp of her name. Sam too was at her side, helping Evan to guide her around to sit on the couch. She was trembling beneath their hands.

For her part, Gretchen stood off to the side with wide eyes, taking in the scene.

“That was the woman I heard, wasn’t it?” She asked in a small shell shocked voice.

“Yes,” Sam replied stiffly.

Just then, the apartment door whined as it opened, Cas and Jack making their way back in together with a solemn air that quickly turned tense as they took in the tone of the room.

“What happened?” Cas demanded at once.

Sam met his eyes from across the room, willing himself to say the words he still couldn’t quite believe. 

“Your’s isn’t the only alter.” He said with forced calm. “Gretchen’s informer was a man with my voice and--” he braced himself, “Rowena just called us on Sonia’s phone. Whoever they are, they have her mother. They want us all to go back to the house or--”

“Or what!?” Sonia cried hysterically.

Sam couldn’t look at her. His silence was enough to send her into a fit of angry tears.

“Виктор мертв, и теперь моя мать в опасности. Вы все-проклятие для меня! (Viktor is dead, and now my mother is in danger. You are all a curse to me!)” She sobbed, standing from the couch and stalking away to the back hallway. “Лучше бы мы никогда не встречались! (I wish we’d never met!)”

When Evan attempted to follow her, she barked back at him, “Оставь меня хоть раз в покое! (Leave me alone for once!)” and though he couldn’t understand her, the tone stopped him dead in his tracks; he had never seen her so out of sorts.

Gretchen saddled up next to him, hovering but not touching him. “Evan I’m--I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen…”

For a long moment, Sam thought the young man would lash out at her as he had in the hallway, but to his surprise, something fond and soft settled onto his face as he turned to look at her. 

“This isn’t your fault.” He told her sincerely. 

“The fault lies with these imposters,” Cas added with conviction. “And they will answer for it.”

“What do we do now?” Jack piped up.

With a shaky exhale Sam replied. “The only thing we can; we go to them.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. Contamination and Pollution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!!ATTENTION!!!!!!
> 
> I am putting a trigger warning on this chapter just because there are some non-con elements present but it's self non-con (is that even a thing?). Soooooo yeah. Beware and stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO CHAPTERS IN ONE NIGHT???
> 
> WHO AM I???
> 
> After such a long hiatus, I thought you guys deserved it.......nevermind that chapter six was actually going to be a rewrite of this chapter but then I just decided to make each part it's own chapter. WAHOO. Good times.

By the time Dean woke up the sun had long since set. The only light afforded to the room was the rhythmic flicker of firelight from the hearth opposite the bed. For a long moment after he opened his eyes he just lay, staring at the ceiling. His limbs were stiff and heavy like he hadn’t moved once in his sleep, while his head was, at best, a jumble of disjointed imagery and snippets of conversation. If he tried to focus on any one thing too long it simply slipped back into the fog.

Dean hauled himself upright, groaning and squinting at the fire, his head swimming so much with each dizzying flicker he had to look away. With a tremendous effort, he turned the blankets over and dragged first one leg, then the other, over the edge of the bed. He made it as far as getting his feet on the ground when the faint sound of crinkling paper drew his attention to the other side of the bed.

A slip of plain white stationary stained gold in the firelight stood steepled on the unused pillow next to his own, the letters of his name spelled out on its front in elegant deep blue ink. Something about it set off alarm bells, a sudden spike of adrenaline making his heart skip but with his mind still in a haze of sleep, he shook it off and plucked the paper from its perch.

Leaning heavily onto his knees, he turned the sheet over in his hands and folded it open toward the light to reveal some sort of a letter whose neat handwriting he recognized easily.

  
  
_Dean,_

_Circumstances elsewhere required my immediate attention so I will not be there when you wake but in lue of our strained beginnings, it seems to be in our mutual best interest to give you both time and space to collect your thoughts._

_I give you my word we will speak at length about the truth when I return._

_In the meantime, you are free to explore the house and the property, but I strongly caution against attempting to flee for your own safety; the forest surrounding the house is vast and full of large predators both natural and unnatural._

_Concerning your attire; the master bedroom down the hall from your current location contains a fully stocked walk-in closet suited to your tastes. I trust it will fulfill any clothing requirements._

_The master bathroom attached inside is also fully stocked with any and all toiletry supplies you could need. The shower has also been modified to suit your water pressure preferences; I know how important that is to you._

_Lastly, the kitchen downstairs is stocked with fresh high quality ingredients and the best equipment available to master them. I look forward to seeing what you create; you have always been a talented chef._

_Should you require anything else; you need but ask._

_C._

Dean blinked at the single letter signed at the bottom as he tried to come to terms with what he’d just read. He had a strong foreboding feeling about what ‘strained beginnings’ meant but he couldn’t for the life of him understand _why_. 

He brought one hand up to press fingers into his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose, attempting to clear the fog of sleep from his head as he broke down the exact timeline of events since coming back from the hunt.

He remembered going on a food run after finishing the case with Sam in Casper and calling Cas to let him know they’d be home the following day then...blank. He must have passed out hard after and been abducted from the motel room while he was asleep. That would make sense; he’s sure he would have put up enough of a fight to alert Sam otherwise.

Then he’d woken up here, gone downstairs, and found the _other_ Cas. He’d been put off sure, but the guy seemed harmless enough despite the one glaring fault of _kidnapping_ , and even that somehow seemed less concerning when he’d given the vague _why_.

_To save you from the same fate as the man I knew._

His temples gave a violent pulse when he tried to think beyond their conversation in the kitchen. He must have hit his head harder than he thought when he fell. He glanced back down at the note in his hand, considering its instructions, before looking passed it at his now two day old pajamas.

The ‘caution against fleeing’ bit didn’t sound good no matter how he looked at it, but a shower and some fresh clothes did. The steam and heat would clear his head, and he’d be lying if he said ‘water pressure modified to his preferences’ didn’t sound fucking fantastic on his stiff limbs and back.

With a sigh and roll of his shoulders, the hunter stood, depositing the note on the nightstand and made his way around the bed toward the exit. Despite how out of it he felt, he still proceeded down the dark hallway with caution, sparing a glance over the balcony into the sitting area and out the front windows just to be sure he was in fact alone, before continuing on to the other half of the upper level he hadn’t inspected yesterday. 

It felt incredibly surreal to note that the candle holder he’d lifted in self defense earlier that day had been returned to its original position on the side table near the stairs as though it had never been moved at all, and as he passed he had the obscure fleeting sense that it hadn’t been the only thing reset.

Through slight tunnel vision, the hunter made his way into unexplored territory, feeling more and more like he’d been dropped into a dream. The only entry on this side of the upstairs was a set of stunningly carved double doors cast in silvery moonlight from the adjacent window at the end of the hall. His body felt feverish the longer he stood there in inaction, beads of sweat skittering down his temples and the small of his back in tickling rivulets.

When had he started breathing so hard? 

With a determined shake of his head, Dean reached toward one of the gracefully arched brass door handles, paying no heed to the odd reflection on it’s highly polished surface as he pulled the door open.

The moment he stepped inside his breath caught in his throat.

The bed itself was situated to the left; a California king by all visual accounts and draped in deep cool neutral linens tucked sharply around the edges of the mattress, plush white pillows stacked against the headboard with precision.

The bed, and accompanying nightstands, were flanked by two stunning stained glass doors that lead out onto a crescent balcony overlooking the lake below. The light of a stunning full moon out over the lake shone through the intricate abstract mosaic of stained glass, bathing the entire room in a spectrum of fractured light, further amplifying the dream-like sensation that Dean couldn’t seem to shake.

Another slate stone fireplace, smaller than the one in the living space but certainly larger than the one in the spare room he’d been occupying previously, stood resolutely across from the bed, it’s hearth cold and dark for the time being. To its left, tucked into the back corner, stood a sizable window reading nook lined with shelving built directly into the walls filled to bursting with books.

The hunter’s eyes fell lastly on the two doors at either side of the fireplace, mirroring the ones that lead outside, both the same ashen colored wood and brass handles as the rest of the walls and doors in the house.

The space had all the makings of luxury and comfort but Dean felt nothing but the chill of disuse. It felt more like a temple than a bedroom, preserved in time in the way of grieving loved ones. He made a slow circle, his eyes skimming over the surfaces and walls devoid of personal effects or picture frames, the empty spots where they might have once stood or hung glaring and stark. Despite how uncomfortable that made him feel, he set his jaw and made for the door nearest the reading nook. 

In his periphery, the scattered light from the stained glass glinted off various surfaces along the shelves as he passed. Gold leafed edges in the pages of ancient looking tomes, various displayed artifacts, and jars amidst eclectic knick knacks of all shapes and sizes that seemed like they’d be more at home in the basement of the bunker than a bedroom.

Dean paused mid step, his hand halfway to the door handle.

He turned slowly, gaze falling onto a small silver standing picture frame tucked back behind a beautifully hand carved statuette and incense dish. Now that he thought about it, it was the first photograph he’d seen in the entire house.

He blinked several times allowing his eyes to adjust to the low light, before reaching for the frame and delicately maneuvering it off the shelf so as not to dislodge the other contents. Once free, he stepped forward more into the light of the nook’s window and examined the photograph, his eyes widening as he took in the image.

It was him and Cas, sitting next to one another in a diner booth. A snapshot of one in a thousand instances just like it, but this was different...

Someone else had taken the photo, probably Sam if the exasperated look on Dean’s face was an indication. The expression was one he’d worn many times, typically when his little brother was being a sappy dork, but the man in the photo wasn’t _him_. 

The angel’s voice echoed in his head, _He was killed._

The pressure of emotion lodged in his chest; this was the Dean this other version of Cas had lost...

His eyes moved over the image with a new understanding and respect. The hunter was leaning forward over what appeared to be remnants of breakfast with his fork pointing warningly at the camera and cheek bulging as if he’d been trying to tell his little brother off through a mouthful.

This Cas, whose physical appearance without the scar or the untrimmed hair, appeared no different from the Cas he knew, wasn’t looking at the camera at all. Instead, his eyes were fixed on Dean, his posture at total ease with his arm draped over the back of the booth behind the hunter. His expression was all crinkled eyes and gummy smile; pure amused affection

Dean’s heart began to beat a little faster as various nuanced details began to jump out at him. The Cas depicted here was absent his trademark trench coat and was instead dressed in a casual denim button up that complimented his eyes and accented the broadness of his shoulders. The pair were seated so close it was impossible not to notice it. Dean couldn’t see below the table but he could easily imagine they were sitting thigh to thigh.

Then he spotted it, perhaps because it was still nagging at his subconscious; the leather cord he’d seen earlier when he’d first confronted Alt-Cas. It was present in the picture as well, the cord hanging around the angel’s neck with the horned brass pendant attached to it standing out bright against the blue fabric on his chest. 

Another wave of feverish heat flooded through the hunter, contradicting the bizarre apprehension that seized his gut. He’d given that amulet to Cas in this reality as well, but that had been a mechanical necessity. There was something about _seeing him wearing it_ that made Dean feel lightheaded and sick all at once.

It was subtle but it was so...intimate.

Stunned but still slow to react, Dean completed the process of opening the door with the frame still in hand when a sensor light above him blinked on to reveal the walk in closet described in the angel’s note. 

His eyes widened as he took in the two distinct sides, the frame slipping out of his hand and clattering to the floor. The strike of metal on wood and cracking glass was loud in the silence but he barely noticed it as he looked on in awe.

Stretching over the entire right side of the closet, occupying shelves and cubbies and hangers, were all his own clothes. With the picture forgotten, Dean darted inside, swiping through the array of button downs and flannels haphazardly organized, along with several varieties of canvas jackets, heavier winter fleece coats, and all different shades of suit coats and slacks. Ducking down to peer into the cubbies he found several varieties of casual and dress shoes alike as well as all manner of work boots. He pulled at the drawers just as frantically, flinging them open one by one to reveal jeans, undershirts, boxers, socks, ties...

It was everything. Anything he could need or want from his own wardrobe and then some; he even pulled out a time worn Zeppelin Tee Shirt he’d had since he was in his twenties, it’s lettering so faded from years of wear and washing it was barely legible.

It felt strange and invasive and he couldn’t help the sense of foreboding that washed over him like ice water.

Pushing it aside for the time being and focusing on what was immediately in front of him, Dean pulled out all the essentials and turned to leave, only to freeze in place as his eyes fell on the other side of the closet. 

He should have expected to find it somewhere, but it still hit him hard to see it tucked away and forgotten...

Cas’s trench coat hung neatly at the front of a small array of other dark colored suit jackets and coats. Behind those, another cluster of button downs, mostly in various shades of solid blue with a few flannels thrown in the mix as well; amongst them was the denim shirt from the photo.

The hunter stepped forward to take the tan cuff of the trench coat into his hand and brought it up to examine it. It seemed to be an exact replica of the one his Cas wore just stiff from prolonged storage. Without really thinking he dropped the cuff and stepped forward, taking up the lapel instead and bending slightly to bring it to his face. Closing his eyes, he inhaled the scent of it. Under the dry papery odor of dust, he could just make out the hint of ozone and windswept freshness he’d come to associate with Cas over the years.

His heart ached to see the angel; the real angel, not whatever cheap knock off had brought him here. 

A low rumbling laugh bubbled up from the silence around him so seamlessly he almost didn’t notice it until it sounded as though it were right next to his ear. 

Dean whipped around, a startled explicative on his lips but the only thing which met him was empty air and the crunch of glass under his heel. The accompanying shock of pain cut through the fog in his head as the glass sliced open the bottom of his foot. 

“Son of a bitch!” He hissed between his teeth as he teetered back but didn’t fall. Stooping down, he retrieved the photo from the ruined frame, carefully avoiding the now bloody shards of glass.

“Fuck,” He growled as a dull throb of guilt pulsed through his chest at the ominous sight of the Castiel in the image slathered in blood.

The slice in his foot throbbed as well and he hobbled out of the closet, gingerly setting the picture on the window bench seat. A quick glance around the room revealed he was still very much alone, though he couldn’t help but feel as if he were being watched. After a moment of consideration, he made his way over to the other door. The wet squelch of blood under each step was beyond uncomfortable.

The master bathroom was split into two parts by an elegant archway in the center. On this side, a long slate grey counter fitted with two basin sinks of a deep obsidian ran the length of the wall on the right. Above them, a huge opulent brass framed mirror hung below tasteful ceiling lights. On the left stood two large storage cabinets carved out of ashen wood fitted with more brass, and just beyond them a glistening obsidian toilet to match the sinks.

Dean ignored the rest in favor of tossing his clothes on the counter and limping over to the cabinets and throwing their doors open in search of first aid supplies. The first cabinet yielded only an assortment of towels ranging in color from pale grey to navy blue and accompanying rags; he chose a pair at random and threw them across the middle space onto his clothing pile.

The second cabinet opened with a waft of clean smelling cologne and lotions of which several varieties took up the space of the topmost shelf. Below that, an array of canisters and creams, supplies of razors, hair care products, and a blow dryer. 

Finally, on the last shelf, near a proverbial pharmacy’s worth of medication and ointment for any possible ailment, he found a healthily stocked medical kit which he promptly snatched off the shelf and set on the floor next to the toilet. He then sat on the toilet seat and hiked his injured foot over one knee to examine the extent of the damage. 

At first glance it looked far worse than it was with blood bubbling up and dripping off his toes, so he bit the bullet and reached for the bottle of alcohol tucked behind a small velcro belt inside the kit. With a deep breath, he poured a generous amount over the cut, washing away the blood. The wet splatter of the pink tinged liquid on the dark tile below was almost enough to drown out his sharp hiss of pain as the alcohol burned in the open gash.

After the deed was done, a quick once over revealed the wound itself was just a small slice that began in the meat of his heel and curved up just slightly over the inner side arch of his foot. It wasn’t deep enough to require stitches but he was sure he’d be walking funny for a day or two while it healed.

A quick rummage around the medkit revealed some conveniently placed water repellent adhesive, which he snatched up along with a small package containing a sterile cotton bandage. After a few practiced motions, more muscle memory than conscious thought, Dean stood up from the toilet, medkit in hand, and gingerly tested his weight on the dressed wound. 

The small shock of pain up his leg reminded him of a nasty bee sting, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. A small sad smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he deposited the medkit on the counter. He could practically hear Cas’s exasperated lecture; something along the lines of being stubborn for enduring trivial pain.

The ache of the angel’s absence was more acute here than it had been in the closet, heightened in a way he hadn’t been expecting. He felt warm, almost feverish with it, and he had to catch himself against the counter as he suddenly swayed and stumbled.

With his eyes squeezed shut to focus his breathing, he didn’t see the strange waver in his own reflection, or how it’s head tilted up from it’s hunched position to stare at him.

_Shower,_ Dean’s sluggish mind provided as though it had been prodded with a reminder.

Right. He needed to get in the shower. 

Dean shoved himself off the counter without a backward glance, shuffling awkwardly as he lifted his arms up to claw at the damp shirt on his back, dragging it over his head and tossing it haphazardly aside as sweat once again began to bead at his temples.

He then pushed his boxers down over his thighs and toed them off, sighing in relief as the removal of fabric seemed to cool him substantially. Now fully nude, the hunter made his way under the arch with his towel and rag in hand to find a black stone bathtub off to the left, a small storage counter with vertical shelving not so dissimilar from lockers and a gleaming stone bench off to the right, and a large glass encased shower directly in front.

Timed lighting slowly brightened the room from several low points along the walls, flooding the dark tiled floor in cool tinted light. Rich, dark tropical plants stood in tasteful planters on either side of the shower, while others hung in a line of matching baskets above the counter and bath. 

Dean stopped briefly to place his towel on the slate countertop, before tossing the washrag over his shoulder and making his way to the shower door. As he approached, the lights behind him dimmed, and a warm light along the top seams in the glass blinked on to compensate, washing his skin and hair in shades of red. The strange color choice framing the top of the shower definitely had a foreboding sort of vibe to it that had Dean immediately on edge as he reached to pull the door open.

A cursory glance around for the faucet yielded nothing, but the moment he stepped up into the shower, the redlight shuddered just a bit and the water kicked on in the center, falling from the ceiling like a warm torrent of fat dropped rain. He blinked in surprise as he tested the temperature with the palm of his hand before deeming it adequate and stepping beneath it.

Despite his initial apprehension, Dean practically melted beneath the heavy pelting of water just hot enough to begin to steam the glass and fog up his reflection as his head finally began to clear. 

Alt-Cas had promised a more extensive explanation but the glaring blank spots in his memory made him apprehensive to trust anything he said. The thought had begun needling at him as soon as the fog had lifted enough to think clearly. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that his memory had been tampered with. .

After the initial fury at the fucking audacity of this guy faded to a dull simmer, the hunter began to make a plan. The blank spots in his memory were stark and ill hidden; he’d had his head messed with enough times now to know a rush job when he saw one. The angel was desperate and sloppy which prompted the question; why?

He tried not to think of all the stupid desperate shit Cas had done with the best intentions in mind, and couldn’t help but wonder if this was something like that. He’d said his Dean had lost himself and been killed and that he was trying to save him from the same fate…

Lost in the thought, Dean remained oblivious to a pair of handless prints that streaked through the steam coated glass behind him.

Dean considered his options. The angel clearly didn’t view him as a threat, or a flight risk considering he’d left him alone, so fighting him off or attempting to flee seemed like moot points. So far as Dean knew, the guy was acting out of desperation which explained why his emotions had been all over the place.

As uncomfortable as it made him feel, getting in close with this Cas was looking more and more like the only viable option. So far as the angel knew, the hunter was unaware of the memory alteration and if Dean played his cards right, he might be able to use that to his advantage. If he could get the guy to open up a little, wheedle some more of his story out of him he might be able to appeal to his better nature, assuming he had one, or at the very least, distract him long enough to get some sort of word out to the _real_ Cas.

After breakfast, the spilled coffee, and then the tone of the note, it was obvious that the guy was eager to please him despite his refusal to cooperate. He thought about the last paragraph of the note. A meal for a meal; a show of trust. After all, relationships were built on reciprocation. 

All he had to do was play along.

Dean lifted his face toward the ceiling, letting the water wash over his face and hair, his expression screwed up into something like disgust. It felt like a betrayal no matter what he told himself but he couldn’t sit around and do nothing either. 

The water washed away the stiffness that permeated him, invigorating him. The back wall was lined with small cubbies built right into the tile, each sporting a multitude of different colored bottles. He chose one at random, bringing it to his nose for a quick assessing sniff before wetting his rag and administering a healthy squeeze of the deep blue liquid inside the bottle, not really bothering to identify what it was; soap was soap. 

He made quick work of his face and hair before dragging the fragrant foam down over his shoulders and chest and under his arms. He fully intended on this being a quick in and out like one of his many rushed hotel showers, but he kept getting caught up in how he was going to approach this situation.

Would it be as simple as talking to Cas? Would he have to make more of an effort? He thought about how close the men in the photo had been, how that Cas had looked at that Dean, and couldn’t suppress the thrill that pulsed in his gut. Would his Cas have looked at him that way if he’d gotten the chance? Indignant anger welled up inside him at the thought; he’d been right on the cusp of finding out.

His washing hand slowed as he momentarily got swept up in the disappointment, and hoped vehemently that Cas wasn’t taking it personally. After everything they’d been through all he wanted was some solid ground between them. He inhaled evenly against his rising anxiety. Despite his instinct to do the opposite, Dean forced himself to remember Cas’s words on the phone; he had been looking forward to their time together, to Dean coming home and, for the first time in what felt like far too long, the angel had sounded hopeful.

Just then water pulsed a bit warmer, noticeable but not unappreciated. As Dean swiped his rag over his chest once again, the coarse fabric brushed over one of his nipples, sending an unexpected jolt of heat all the way down to his toes where they curled in the suds pooling around the drain at his feet.

He quickly pulled it away, embarrassed by how acutely his body had reacted before refocusing back to the task at hand. Bending at the waist, Dean scrubbed at his feet and calves, and then slowly straightened up to run the rag over his thighs and then finally his groin, only to gasp in shock when the mundane touch of his own hand nearly buckled his knees.

It felt inappropriate, and not in the fun kind of way it usually would if he were going to sneak in a quick jerk under the radar, but it was the intensity of it that truly alarmed him. In an attempt to curb the sudden heat in his skin, Dean stepped out from beneath the spray of the water and leaned his shoulders and upper back against the cool glass of the shower wall, his skin smearing away any evidence of the handprints.

The water seemed to kick up another few degrees and steam permeated the enclosed space, clinging to his body and making him more feverish despite his efforts. Then, an image of Cas flickered across his mind unprovoked; the heated flash of his eyes across the expanse of the map table in the bunker.

It could have been any number of memories Dean had of the angel, but there was something in the gaze, something flatter...darker...than he’d ever seen in the eyes of the man he knew. A perverse and salacious sense of pride and ownership crept up his spine, making his stomach twist into knots.

For one horrible moment, Dean felt the same powerlessness he’d experienced while Michael had been in control of him. There had been no permission granted this time, nor black demon smoke jammed down his throat. This felt like _him. His_ thoughts, _his_ feelings. But that couldn’t be possible…

His heart thumped wildly in his chest, pumping hot blood in every direction as he squeezed his eyes shut to will the feeling away, but this only proved to amplify the imagery. 

His mind was full of groping hands and plaintive moans; he could practically feel large searching hands sliding down over his ribs, his abs and stomach until the teasing touch of fingers around his cock made him gasp aloud.

His eyes snapped open, for one heart stopping moment convinced that he wasn’t alone, but a scan of the shower and surrounding bathroom through the glass proved the area to be as uninhabited as it had been when he’d stepped inside. Then he glanced down his torso arched out from where he was still leaning against the glass under the red light and was alarmed to discover that his hand had moved to circle around his half hard erection of its own accord, his fingers as loose and teasing as the hand in the fantasy had been.

With a frustrated growl, he released himself and shoved away from the wall. What the hell was wrong with him? It was far from the first time he’d touched himself thinking of Cas but what was happening now wasn’t like those times at all. There was no warmth or fondness or longing in the act; it felt forced...coerced from him somehow by some unknown dark impulse.

Under the water once again, Dean tried to focus on the rhythmic sound of the thick droplets hitting the floor around him in sheets, but it did little to distract him. He swayed on his feet as another wave of arousal washed over him, catching himself on his forearm against the glass in front of him. 

Steam slid enticingly down the small of his back like the hot breath of a lover. The temperature of the water rose once again, the bite of it licking at his heels and calves. More steam rose in rolling clouds, curling up around his thighs and over the lobes of his ass, clinging to him and the glass until the world around him was completely obscured.

Pressing his face into the crook of his elbow, the hunter groaned despite himself, his cock now rock hard and hanging heavy between his legs as the images of Cas assaulting him escalated in depravity until, unable to stand the mounting pressure any longer, the hunter’s hand slipped back around his aching length and began to stroke it in earnest.

The images flashed across his mind like slides on a reel, memories from a life that wasn’t his despite how he saw each of them through his own eyes.

_He has Cas bent over the map table, only the necessary bits of fabric moved aside, moving inside him with hard and fast snaps of his hips. One hand pulls his hips back into every thrust while the other fists tightly into his dark hair, arching his back. Cas cries out beneath him. He feels hot and powerful._

_He has one of Cas’s legs looped over his arm, keeping him spread wide as he moves inside him up against the cement wall of the bunker’s basement. Cas looks exhausted, the dark circles around his eyes more pronounced, but he clings to Dean regardless, the sounds spilling over his lips pure sin but Dean presses a hand hard over his mouth to silence him._

_He has Cas completely naked on his back inside a devil’s trap on the floor, slamming into him at an unforgiving pace. Both of his hands are around the angel’s throat, squeezing hard enough to bruise, to strangle. The angel lays limp beneath him, his body pliant but unresponsive. His eyes stare at a point over Dean’s shoulder, wet but blank._

The last image shocks a gasp out of him, his nostrils flaring as he heaves breath after panting breath. He was so so close, teetering on that knife’s edge, helpless while his hand moved as though it was being controlled by someone else. 

This was wrong. This was sick.

He couldn’t stop.

_Just enjoy the ride._

The words were woven into the torrent of water and slithered across his skin with the steam. 

Another shocked gasp.

Who…?

_You’re the only one here, aren’t you?_ It purred in answer.

That impending tightness in his lower stomach signaled his orgasm was fast approaching. The obscene wet slap of his skin made his ears and face burn with a shame that didn’t stop the low groan from escaping him when he finally crested, his cock pulsing in his own hand as ropes of cum coated his fingers and dripped onto the tile below to be washed away.

There was no blissed out afterglow or relief, only a bone deep sense of _wrongness_. Dean pressed his hot forehead into the crook of his forearm still propped against the glass, hiding his eyes as a nausea inducing sense of shame shook him to his core.

What the actual FUCK?! Had that really just happened? What the fuck were those images?! It had looked and felt so _real._

Another wave of nausea.

What if it had been? How could that even be possible?

The image of Cas’s glossy eyes and blank expression would be forever seared into his memory.

Dean finally lost the battle with his nausea. Jerking to the side and doubling over, he retched and coughed, dry heaving around a minuscule amount of bile and foam.

The water cascading around him began to run cooler and lighter before shutting itself off altogether, leaving him kneeling and dripping and trembling on the slick tile floor. The stark silence left in the wake of the water was deafening, interrupted only by Dean’s own uneven breathing.

Eventually, he mustered the wherewithal to uncurl himself from the floor and all but threw himself out of the shower, stumbling his way to his towel. After a quick pat down, Dean tucked the towel securely around his waist and made his way back to the other side of the bathroom to dress.

He paused in front of the mirror, peering at the blurred outline of himself obscured by fogged glass. Leaning on his palms over one of the sinks, the hunter took a moment to steel his nerves. He felt exhausted and hollowed out. His skin still crawled from the act, but it was more than feeling embarrassed or even ashamed.

He hadn’t been _in control of himself_. He’d been so out of it before that the implications of it were just now hitting with full force, making his heart race and his palms sweat. Every instinct in him pointed to something supernatural, but there hadn’t been any indication; no hint of sulfur or drops in temperature.

But there _had_ been _a voice_. 

_His own voice_.

Dean lifted a hand to swipe at the steam covered glass, needing to give himself a once over and ground himself, but when he looked up, the sight that met him made his blood run cold. Peering back at him in the glass was a perfect replica of himself, but it stood peering at him still as stone with a sharp grin and charred black holes where his eyes should have been.

Just then the click of the master bedroom door’s opening drew his attention, his head jerking away from his reflection toward the sound and back again so quickly it could barely be said he looked away at all.

Whatever had been looking back at him was gone leaving him peering only at his own frightened reflection.

“Dean?!” A familiar voice called urgently from the bedroom. 

The hunter froze, eyes falling on the bathroom door handle as it cranked violently to the side and the door was thrown open. 

Castiel burst into the bathroom with an expression that could only be described as pure panic etched across his face. There was scarcely a moment of eye contact shared between them before the angel was on him in two long strides, his hands on the hunter’s face, cradling it between his palms.

Something desperate and dangerous glistened in the depths of those deep blue orbs, rendering Dean completely speechless for the sheer magnitude of it.

“You’re distressed.” Castiel stated, “Tell me what happened.”

“I--” Dean began, but thought better of an honest explanation. Then as if just realizing their proximity, he turned his head away, out of the angel’s hands, a blush climbing up his neck despite himself. Castiel’s dislodged hands fell back to his sides, but he didn’t back away, remaining within a foot of the hunter.

“Uh,” Dean began again, clearing his throat. With his mind still reeling from everything that had happened, he spoke without thinking. “Yeah, I was freaking out a little because I messed up your picture earlier.”

For one fleeting moment, Dean thought the angel was going to argue, but he seemed to decide against it at the last second. Instead, his eyes dropped to the floor, though Dean could feel the heat of his gaze rake over every inch of exposed skin on the way down before his eyes found the bandage on his foot.

Dean held his ground as Castiel moved to touch him, swallowing the instinct to shove him away. 

_Play along, play along, play along._

His hand fit seamlessly over his left shoulder, warm and gentle, right where the scar had been. The cool heat of grace tingled a bit where they were connected and then again beneath his bandage. 

It took only a moment to fully heal, but Castiel's hand remained on him, sliding up just a touch over the juncture between his shoulder and neck, his thumb tracing absently over his clavicle.

"The picture is of no consequence: it pales in comparison to the real thing." The angel told him in a gentle fond manner.

Dean swallowed nervously, unable to look the guy in the eye after such a declaration. He cleared his throat again as he took a single step back out of the angel's touch.

"Right...uh…" Dean stumbled around lamely, looking anywhere but at the angel, feeling embarrassed by how the words affected him despite his best efforts to ignore it. "Well, I'm glad you're not mad…"

"There is nothing you could do to upset me, Dean."

Dean's fist tightened where he held his towel in place, biting back his natural response to make a flippant remark, instead he said, "Good to know." Then "Listen man, I need to get dressed--"

Absurdly, the angel flushed crimson, his eyes growing wide with understanding before he abruptly turned his back.

"My apologies," he spoke over his shoulder, sounding legitimately contrite. 

"So can you, like, leave?" Dean prompted awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I’m not going to ‘attempt to flee’ through the pipes or something.”

Shit. He hadn't meant that to sound so harsh but the weird intimacy of the whole encounter was beginning to take a toll on him and he needed the guy gone to deflate.

Castiel's back went stiff, no doubt recognizing his own written words thrown back at him. His head crooked to the side, not quite looking back over his shoulder. Again, he appeared as though he wanted to argue, but thought better of it. 

With a curt nod, he responded, “I will be in the garage. Come find me when you’re ready.”

In the span of a blink, he disappeared, the faint sound of rustling feathers the only indication that he had been there at all.

  
  
  



	8. Discovery and Diversion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter after a long hiatus. I hemmed and hawed about making it two separate shorter chapters but in the final cut, I just didn't want to break up the suspense. Lots of stuff gets revealed, more questions to be answered. The next chapter will be back with Sam, Cas, and Jack. If time seems screwy between Dean's perspective and their's, it's because it is.
> 
> I wonder why...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta read this chapter because of my erratic schedule so please be kind.

Once the dark clad angel blinked out of existence, all the accumulated tension his presence brought with it left Dean at once and he sagged heavily against the counter feeling light headed and a bit ill. 

In the quiet of the bathroom, he could hear the pounding of his heart in his ears like a steel drum. His mind was circling what had happened in the shower like water in a drain, but he couldn’t afford to be pulled down into that potential right now.

Right now he needed to focus on getting out.

So Dean did what he did best; he pushed it down and locked it away despite how his exposed skin crawled against the open air in the room around him. With the decision made, Dean dressed in jeans and a khaki tee, and hastily pulled on a blue grey checkered flannel as he shouldered out the bathroom door.

As he stepped back into the bedroom, the first thing he noticed was the absence of his bloody footprints and assumed that Alt-Cas must have set his mojo from stun to clean; a trick he’d seen his Cas perform numerous times, though in this scenario the hunter couldn’t shake the eerie feeling it gave him. A quick check inside the closet revealed much the same; no broken glass or frame. On a hunch, he checked the original shelf and sure as sin the frame was sitting just beyond the incense dish where he’d found it, put back together as though it had never broken. 

The photo, however, was missing. 

A chill passed over him, a deep sense of foreboding flooding his senses as the angel’s haunting words rang loud in his ears.

_You could never do anything to upset me._

In the moment it had seemed sincere but Dean was sure now that it had been his own psyche searching for the comfort of the familiar while under duress from what had happened to him that made it sound that way. He felt with certainty now as he looked over the meticulously cleaned scene that the angel had said it only to put him at ease in the moment. From literal kidnapping and half truths, to the memory scrambling; it seemed that the guy was trying to manipulate his perception and keep him from the truth despite his numerous promises to the contrary. 

Frustrated, Dean abandoned the bedroom for the stairs. However he felt about it, the angel was the single hurdle he had to jump to freedom, and he knew it was going to take some manipulation of his own to get it done. 

As he descended the stairs into the atrium, a glance to the right revealed the living area empty and dark; no cheerful crackling fire this time. The shadows there seemed darker in every sense of the word and he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched despite being alone.

On edge, Dean turned left instead, into the dining room. Here the light fixtures along the back wall were lit like a runway path toward the kitchen. As he made his way past them, he took the opportunity to check behind the doors he’d sprinted passed previously in case there should be anything of use behind them.

The first was uneventful; just another smaller bathroom that the hunter gave a quick once over before shutting the door and moving on. The other was more intriguing. As he opened up the middle door, he walked directly into an odorous wall of dust and aged paper. It reminded him so much of the basement in the bunker that he had to take stock of the room to ensure it _wasn’t_ a replica.

It was similar in its foundational makeup, right down to the water damaged boxes and piles of books and scrolls littering every available shelf and surface. The single exception was a person sized workspace on an old desk near the back of the room where a single dingy lamp was the only light source besides what spilled in from the open door. With a cautious glance toward the kitchen to ensure he was alone, Dean stepped inside, risking a bit of snooping with the angel otherwise occupied. It was the only place in the entire house he’d discovered so far that seemed as though someone inhabited it with any frequency and he wasn't about to pass up the opportunity to glean some solid truth.

Coming around behind the desk, Dean scanned the work space for anything useful. What he found was an ancient looking tome in a runic language he didn’t recognize, accompanied by an explosion of journals bursting with pages on which all available space was crammed with ink.

This Cas had definitely been doing his homework. From the first cursory glance, they appeared to be some sort of logs, using the tome as a referential if the similar shorthand in the margins of the open pages were any indication. 

Each entry was labeled with a Roman numeral, and there were _thousands._ As Dean tried to make out what exactly was being recorded, he discovered the writing itself weaved incoherently from one language to another, sentence to sentence, and occasionally word to word. It was written in the same dark blue ink as the note on his pillow, though the script was considerably more degraded. It looked more like the obsessive scrawlings of a madman with some words scratched out so harshly the paper was torn. 

Dean swallowed hard as a few passages in English caught his attention:

_MDLXVII (1567)-_

_Resonance stable_ _Rejected; Malalignment in the soul._

_Deceased; Burnt out._

_MDLXVIII (1568)-_

~~_Resonance stable_ ~~ _Rejected; Soul malalignment._

_Catatonic; stupor. Unresponsive._

_Soul is present but radiates at fractional capacity._

_MMMLXVII (3067)_

_No attempt._

_Prone to panic._

_High flight risk._

_~~Fled~~. _ _MIA_

_MMMMDCCLXV (4765)_

~~_Promising_ ~~ _Failed._

 _~~Resonance Stable~~. _ _Rejected; mental malalignment._

_Memory failure. Emotional instability._

_Deceased; Suicide._

As Dean flipped through the next few pages various other disturbing words jumped out at him where he could make them out.

_Visual and auditory hallucinations._

_Violence._

_Dissociation._

Almost every entry he could understand read 'deceased' and there were dozens of other journals with thousands of other entries in various other languages that left him only guessing.

The more he read, the faster his heart began to beat until he finally dropped the journal back on the desk, his breathing ragged. That’s when a separate sheet at the corner of the work space caught his eye. It was half hidden under the tome but as he pulled it out, the difference was stark. This page was crisp, new and the handwriting was clear.

**_MMMMMMCCXXXVIII (6238)_ **

**_On going._ **

**_Resonance; Stable._ **

**_Reactive; consider a submissive approach._ **

**_Caution: Sharp intuition; narrative guidance will be a concern._ **

**_Bridge with food._ **

**_Passed flight risk test._ **

**_This is the one. His eyes shine exactly the same._ **

Dean’s stomach dropped through the floor. The paper slipped from his fingers as he staggered away from the desk. The potential of what it all meant hit him like a physical blow, knocking the breath out of him as his head began to swim.

He had to get the fuck out of here.

The shadows of the dimly lit room suddenly felt as though they were encroaching, the walls pressing in on him as he scrambled away from the desk toward the door. 

There, the hunter stood frozen, with a tight grip around the knob to quell the trembling in his hand, while he fisted the other and pressed his knuckles into the grain. The pain helped to clear his head as he attempted to get a hold of himself.

Then, in that fragile moment with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, Dean felt a tug at his subconscious: a beckoning. Turning his head to the side, he saw it.

So focused on the desk, Dean hadn't even noticed the final door tucked into the corner, cloaked in shadow.

Moving back to the desk, Dean took the small lamp in hand, removed its dusty shade, and held the yellowed bulb aloft like a torch. Cast shadows from the towers of boxes and books crawled up the walls on either side like the claws of something wretched just waiting for the hunter to venture close enough to ensnare. In the full light, each new detail stood out more stark than the last. Chains, padlocks, and deadbolts completely sealed the physical door while thousands of tiny runes and symbols carved directly into the wood sealed something more.

Drawn inexplicably to the energy radiating off the door, Dean set the lamp astride the nearest box and reached for the knob as though it would open despite all the hardware keeping it closed.

He should have known better.

The moment his palm made contact, he was rooted to the damn thing like a live wire.

It took only a moment, but in that single instant of contact, his perception completely shifted as though he were looking through the eyes of another person but...he felt nothing. 

_Nothing_

_Numb._

He could _see nothing_ but thick impenetrable blackness. 

He couldn’t move; completely petrified.

The air was stale and thick with dust, burning his lungs with each inhale.

Unyielding walls of dry wood encased him like a coffin two sizes too small.

In the next instant, Dean was hurled back into his own body. The drastic shift from _nothing_ to _everything_ threw off his balance sending him stumbling back into the pillar of boxes. They and the light crashed to the ground. The shadows rose even more dramatically, looming over Dean, ready to swallow him whole.

As the shock subsided, the pain flared, pain spidering up to his shoulder from his hand. A quick glance back at the doorknob revealed another, larger symbol at its center now fading gradually from the brilliant red hot that had burned him. He fought the lightheaded nausea that accompanied the immediate necessity to assess the damage.

Holding the wrist of his injured hand firmly with the other, the hunter gingerly turned his palm up. Dean cursed under a shuddering breath as he realized the symbol was now clearly branded there, the raised red lines of it so angry and vicious that painful tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

_Fuck. FUCK._

Scrambling into action, Dean all but sprinted from the room, fleeing the scene of his trespass. He reached the kitchen without the memory of having gotten there. In three long strides, he found himself at the sink and wrenched the cold water on and stuck his throbbing hand beneath the cool spray. As the terrible burn was momentary quelled, Dean took the opportunity to examine the brand.

The ridges in the middle of his palm were already, inexplicably, beginning to scar, fading from the shining angry red before his disbelieving eyes. They formed the shape of a six point starburst encased in a diamond. At its center was the image of an eye at once open and closed with its pupil obscured by a cross. Despite the rapid reduction in pain and swelling, the impression was still stark against his skin, impossible to hide even if he tried.

Turning off the water, Dean gingerly dried his aching hand, flexing his fingers experimentally to test their range. As expected, the skin pulled tight from scarring was still tender, leaving his hand all but useless.

Shit. SHIT. Castiel would notice instantly if he _hadn't already._ So far he’d been able to guess the hunter’s physiologic state at a glance. How the hell was he going to explain this?

_Oh, this? I was just trying to break into your obviously hidden places in hopes I could find a clue to help me escape._ _Yeah right._

A bandage would make it more obvious. What he needed was a distraction. His head immediately threw up the angel's note. 

_I look forward to seeing what you come up with._

Right. Right. Before all of this insanity, he’d had a plan; a meal for a meal. 

What did Cas like? In this state, it would have to be simple. Dean stewed on the question for a moment, glaring daggers of the door of the garage on the back wall to his right, before it hit him. 

Without further ado, the hunter set to work gathering ingredients, completely shutting off his brain to the methodical actions of food preparation. The idea was blessedly minimal and sentimental; blackberry jam and rich crunchy peanut butter. While domesticity was the furthest thing from Dean's mind, he was banking on the extra effort going a further distance toward his end goal: escaping this fucking nightmare. 

_I'll show you how to make a bridge with food you psychotic bastard._

He pressed the lever of the nearby toaster a bit harsher than necessary for emphasis. While he waited for the bread to toast, he considered his approach.

He knew more than what the angel had told him now, and while he’d said out right that there was nothing Dean could do to make him angry, the literal list of deceased Dean Winchester’s proved that there was in fact a line he could not cross. That wasn’t even taking into account his personal experience thus far with memory tampering. 

No matter what he said, or how close he seemed in the moment, this man wasn’t Cas. He couldn’t trust him. He also couldn’t make that obvious. The guy’s sanity seemed to be hanging on Dean’s reactions. His jaw tensed as he plated the toasted bread, the burn on his hand providing clarity through pain where it worked near the heat.

If he was going to play the game, he had to work thoughtfully and cautiously. How would he approach his Cas? The answer came to him with embarrassing speed: He would be awkward and standoffish, offer some half assed apology and give him the sandwich as a peace offering.

God was he really that predictable?

Though he was anxious and a little ashamed, he resigned to the fact that this plan was as good as any. From the fridge he retrieved two beers; unsurprised at this point to discover they were his favorite, and then stood back to admire his work. Then, with a final dash of nutmeg, he cut the sandwich from corner to corner, rinsed the used pan and took the plates and beers in hand, and made his way over to the door ignoring the prickling heat in his palm. Dean took a final grounding breath, using his elbow to press the handle, and then shouldered his way into the garage. 

The well lit interior reminded him of the garage in the bunker though it was considerably smaller. He had only a moment to glance over the two stall spots, one of which contained a familiar car shape beneath a black sheet, before his eyes fell on Castiel’s back where he was crouching several feet in front of the stairs near the back tire of a sleek black motorcycle.

The hunter’s breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight. The angel was absent the black button up he’d been wearing earlier, a tight black undershirt in its place. 

Swallowing around a lump in his throat, Dean opened his mouth to make his presence known, Castiel spoke.

“You took less time than I was anticipating.” He said easily, straightening up on one knee and half turning with an oil splotched towel in hand, whipping the worst of the dark tinted grease from his hands as he stood to give the hunter his full attention.

Before, the warm relieved smile on the angel’s face would have given him pause, made him feel confused or even sympathetic. Now, he was prepared. Now he knew better. 

_He’ll do anything to keep you here,_ He told himself, though the voice sounded off.

For a heart stopping moment, Dean thought the jig was up. He could hear his own blood pounding in his ears and knew that the angel surely heard it too. Any moment he would ask what was wrong...

“Forgive the mess.” Castiel implored, gesturing to himself, and the area around him cluttered with various tools. “I haven’t been as meticulous as I could be.”

He hadn’t noticed. 

Dean watched him carefully as the angel took a step toward him, searching for any hint of deception when he caught sight of the leather cord from the photo. The familiar shape of the amulet was there at the end but it was what hung next to it, over the angel’s heart, that captured his attention. His eyes stuck to the unexpected sight of a silver ring hanging there as well before he panicked and looked anywhere else.

_A ring._

He felt light headed again.

Blessedly, the angel’s eyes dropped to the plate and beers in the hunter’s hands and he spoke first to break the tension.

“What have you got there?” He asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

Dean followed his eyes, staring down at his offerings with wide eyes before steeling himself to speak without betraying the game. When he looked up to meet the other man’s questioning gaze, he gave a sheepish half shrug.

“Oh right, uh--” He began lamely before finishing in a rush. “I felt like a dick for earlier so I made you a midnight snack.”

The familiar squint and head tilt made the hunter's stomach flip with anticipation. "It's past midnight." He said, confused.

Dean held his tongue, giving a nervous scoff to cover the hysterics threatening to shake him loose. “Figure of speech man.” He remarked shakily before turning to set the plate on a nearby workbench and collect himself. He turned back, keeping his eyes low, and extended one of the beers toward the angel. “Look just humor me, okay?”

For a moment there was only silence before a small soft smile curled at the corner of the angel’s lips and he extended a hand to take the offered beverage; the final test. Castiel’s finger’s brushed over the knuckles of Dean’s injured hand and the hunter held his breath.

“Thank you.” Castiel said warmly.

Dean blinked rapidly as his heart tripped back to life, a pitchy, “Yeah, sure,” falling past his lips. When Cas eyed him strangely, the hunter added in a rush, “Just seemed like the right thing to do.” He then promptly shoved his injured hand in his pocket and hoped it looked like nerves. 

Calmer now that he seemed to be in the clear, Dean met the angel’s eyes to seal the deal. “Look, I know we started off kinda bad earlier but now that I’ve had some time, I wanted to...uh...start over.”

The angel seemed genuinely taken aback, but then a brilliant smile that touched his eyes bowed his lips as he replied, “I would like that very much, Dean.” 

“Right, well…” Dean floundered for a moment, gesturing vaguely toward the plate. “Dig in then."

Castiel raised his beer, tilting the neck toward Dean. “To new beginnings.”

Dean mirrored the gesture and with a smile he hoped didn’t appear as forced as it felt, he tapped his bottle to the angel’s in a show of solidarity. They both shared a gulp in silence before Castiel moved toward the work bench to inspect the offered food.

“It’s not much but I know that-- ” Dean began lamely before a strange sort of sniffling sound from the angel gave him pause. It took him a second longer to realize it was a stifled sob. Above them, the lights hummed loudly, the light pulsing brighter in time with his shuddering breath.

Interesting. “Uh...Cas--?”

“Forgive me.” Castiel apologized in a rush, scrubbing harshly at his face. “Thank you for the sandwich, it's...it’s perfect.”

Putting two and two together, Dean made his way over to the work bench as well, maintaining enough distance to defend himself should the need arise.

Dropping his voice, he said, “Guess it’s a fan favorite. I used to make it for Sam when he was a kid; perfected it. I take it your Dean was a whiz in the kitchen too?”

That earned him a broken chuckle. “He was at his brightest and happiest cooking for his family.”

An unexpected pang of sympathy struck at the hunter’s heart strings. “Yeah...uh, me too.” He forced himself to reply honestly despite how it made his skin crawl. 

_The bastard doesn’t deserve your fucking sympathy,_ was what Dean thought with a viciousness that surprised him.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Was what Dean murmured as sincerely as he could muster.

Castiel looked directly into his face then, his expression deeply sorrowful but also profoundly hopeful.

“Thank you.” He said just as quietly into the space between them. 

Dean gave him a small smile and a nod before they each took up their respective halves. They chewed in silence for a moment before Castiel once again spoke first.

“You added nutmeg.” The angel said after swallowing. “It was always my favorite.”

“I’m surprised you can taste it.” Dean replied off handedly.

Castiel tossed him a curious look, “Why?”

Dean eyed him carefully. “Doesn’t it all just taste like molecules to you?”

The angel blinked in surprise before turning his head modestly away to cover an unexpectedly charming laugh. Once he got a hold of himself, Castiel threw a conspiratory look back at the hunter. “I’ve managed to master the art of tasting in spite of them.” He replied.

“You’ll have to give my Cas some pointers.” Dean chuckled despite himself, the moment striking him as he realized how little he’d heard Cas laugh in the time they’d known one another. 

Castiel immediately sobered at the mention of the other angel, his posture going rigid and uncomfortable. Dean could practically hear the walls go up as the energy between them became tense once again, though the angel did give a small hum and nod in acknowledgment as he took another bite.

_Should have seen that coming_ . Dean thought. _Don’t mention Cas._

Floundering for a way to break the ice this time, Dean’s eyes darted around the immediate area for anything of note before falling on the bike. 

Duh. Shop talk.

“Hell of a ride you’ve got there,” He remarked, setting his sandwich aside to meander his way over to the ride in question. “No offense, but you ain’t lacking wings or mojo so what gives with the wheels?”

Castiel turned to watch the hunter, following his movements with cautious calculating eyes when it dawned on Dean; he was looking for tells. He knew something was off, but he didn’t know what; probably assumed it was nerves. However, before he even had a chance to worry about it, the solemn expression on the angel’s face lifted and his entire aura brightened at the hunter’s interest. He followed Dean’s example, set aside his sandwich, wiped his hands on his jeans, and followed suit almost giddily. 

Dean was going to get whiplash from this guy’s flip flopping emotions. It was an unsettling reminder of Cas’s instability when he’d been stuffed full of Leviathans. 

“None taken at all.” Castiel assured the hunter, rounding the other side of the bike so they stood face to face. “It is more of a symbol than a true means of transportation, though I must admit I do enjoy riding it on these winding mountain roads. It is the closest feeling to flying I have come across. I would often share that experience with…” He trailed off, that solemn air threatening to over take him once again.

“With your Dean?” Dean finished for him, “Sounds like me. I’d never trade in my Baby, but I’d definitely be up for a side bike if the opportunity presented itself. He help you fix it up too?”

A wistful and sad smile bowed the angel’s lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes and Dean was instantly transported back to the shower and the image of blank blue eyes. A shiver ran down his spine, but he did his best to school his expression into one of sympathy.

“Sorry I keep bringing him up,” Dean muttered, inspecting the surrounding area to hide his internal struggle. He _knew_ this was all a manipulation, _knew_ he was in very serious danger, but his heart _ached_ at the sight in a way he couldn’t control.

_He’s gotten in your head you idiot_ , He berated himself, the blood rushing in his ears warping the voice, making it growl in his head. _It’s what he does, he gets in your head and he locks you up. He’ll lock you up too, and he’ll kill you like he’s killed all the others._

“Don’t be.” Castiel replied, “It's just...been a long time since anyone has asked.” He paused a moment, running a hand reverently over the dark leather seat. “He did help me. Truth be told, he did most of the work, now I just maintain it. When we found it, he said it was just the bare bones collecting rust under a heap of junk in Bobby Singer’s scrap yard.”

Dean latched onto the mention of something familiar. “You found this gem at Bobby’s? Must be a dimensional anomaly. I never found anything like this there.”

“Every reality is different. I have been to some in which the bike doesn’t exist at all for one reason or another.”

Dean sipped at his beer as he considered his next words carefully.

“That happen often?” He asked cautiously, “Things missing?”

Another wistful expression passed over Castiel’s face as he replied, “In every single one,” but as he met Dean’s eyes the melancholy lifted and something warm and small and fragile glinted there in the depths of that ocean blue. “Until now.”

Speechless, Dean was helpless to do anything but stand dumbstruck beneath that soft gaze. He’d come in here expecting his emotions to ally themselves in accordance to the monstrous information he’d discovered in the journals, but he was quickly discovering it wasn’t so simple. 

Pulling himself together, Dean looked away and finished off his beer at the same time, breaking the magnetic spell of those eyes.

“I’ve made you uncomfortable.” Castiel stated contritely, “That wasn’t my intention.”

“Just floundering for context,” Dean told him not unkindly, still maintaining the game despite feeling as though the rules were being changed around him. “In your note, you said you’d explain what was going on.”

When the angel seemed reluctant, Dean took a breath and approached him, knowing that he needed to get the information for this all to come full circle and he felt just desperate enough to cross a line. Hesitantly, he lifted a hand to the angel’s shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly; his first voluntary touch.

“You said before that you came here to save me, you’ve clearly been through a lot to make that happen.” He forced himself to say, “And I can’t thank you enough for that, Cas, but I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

Dean could tell the instant the other man’s resolve broke as the angel leaned into his hand before the hunter gave him a final squeeze and backed away. For his part, Castiel too paced away, hovering near the black sheet covering the car.

For a long time, he remained silent, but Dean could see in his body language that he was warring with himself. It was difficult to quash the sympathy he could still feel swelling in his chest.

Finally, Castiel spoke. “Saving Dean Winchester from hell was the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Dean wanted to scoff to cover how that single sentence made his heart beat a little faster but he abstained, instead he mirrored the angel’s steps, coming to lean against another work bench near the nose of the sheeted car.

“Despite all that would happen to us following that assignment, I would do it again in an instant if it meant I could share my life with him again.” Castiel continued, unable or unwilling to look at the hunter. “Considering your resonance, I suspect much of your lives were identical.”

_Resonance._ The word echoed in the hunter’s head as he recalled all the log entries with the words ‘failed’ and ‘rejected’ scribbled in blue ink.

“Resonance?” Dean asked, crossing his arms over his chest, the instinct to put up a defensive barrier too ingrained to ignore even if he wanted to. 

The angel cast a brief meek glance at him, before propping himself up against the hood of the car. He seemed to intensely consider his words for a few moments before speaking again. “Your soul,” He explained haltingly, as though it were the very first time he’d done so. “It’s the same. Down to its very foundations, even the piece of...me…”

Dean very carefully kept the cascade of emotions assaulting him off his face as he calmly asked, “Piece of you?”

As he’d predicted, Dean’s own reactions seemed to dictate Castiel’s emotions. The angel even mirrored his posture as he settled his weight back against the car. 

“Dean never spoke about it,” He replied, “but the things he experienced in hell left wounds in his soul too deep, too terrible to heal. I suspect you can comprehend that.” Without waiting for a response he continued, “At the time, using my own grace to suture these wounds was a tactical field decision, but--”

Here he pushed off the car to use his hands to emphasize the importance of what he was saying.

“--later it became so much more profound. It was more than a temporary suture. My essence within his soul created a bond; a channel which essentially...connected us.”

Dean thought about every instance he had assessed Cas at a glance, known what he needed or what he’d done, and vice versa. Then, simultaneously, he felt a wave of deep seething anger. It spawned from the same spot as the arousal had earlier; both instances then and now being somehow part of him, and also completely foreign. 

He thought about the entity in the mirror, and a chill passed over him. All the pieces were there, he just needed to connect the dots. If what Castiel was telling him was in fact finally some sort of truth, what the fuck had happened to domino into their current situation? 

Lost in his own head, he didn’t notice Castiel’s measured approach until the backs of strong fingers caressed over his arm where it was crossed over his chest. The touch was gentle, meant to draw his attention but he jerked away regardless, dropping his hands down to grip the edge of the work bench.

Then time froze as he took in their proximity and at least one thing became undeniably clear.

This Castiel and that Dean had been together; _together,_ together.

Dean swallowed hard and chanced a glance up at the angel’s face only to be ensnared in the same sort of blue that lured sailors into the depths of the sea. His lips parted in a gasp that caught in his throat when those same strong fingers brushed feather lightly under his chin and up the line of his jaw.

“It was devastating to watch his fall and be powerless to stop it.” Castiel told him in a small, broken voice.

Before he could stop himself or think of a more tactically sound way to sat it, Dean found himself asking, “What happened to him?”

The lights above them flickered once again and the angel’s eyes glistened with moisture. 

Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance.

“The same thing that happens to all great heroes,” Castiel replied sadly. “He sacrificed himself to save the world. ”

With a steadying breath, he continued. “He had become afflicted with a nightmarish curse, the first and strongest of its ilk. For a time, he was strong, resisted its monstrous will but…it’s a cunning despicable thing. It found ways to make him act without his knowledge. I tried to...make it easier. I built this house for him, away from the rest of the world, to keep him safe, but even out here it found ways to torment him. Dean was indeed a strong man, the strongest I have ever known, but it had only been a question of time until he was consumed by the same darkness I had pried him from in the beginning.”

Dean's eyes widened with shell shocked recognition as a bone deep chill settled into him from the tips of his toes to the skin under the angel’s fingers.

He was talking about the Mark of Cain.

Castiel took another shuddering breath before adding, “After that, our bond became twisted, polluted with insidious intent and viciousness. Everything that I knew, everything that he was...was gone.”

Setting his time in hell aside, the fallout after Dean had received the Mark had been the darkest time in his life. The insatiable itch to kill, the uncontrollable rage, and later the twisting of his soul into something vile and demonic were all traumas he relieved in his nightmares to this day. Perhaps the most damning though, something had never and would never reveal, was that in the deep dark shameful corners of his soul, he could still feel an ache for the freedom he’d experienced when he’d finally given in to it. Freedom from not only the typical burden of human and hunter existence but also from himself; from his guilt and his fear and his sorrow.

_I could give you all of that freedom again,_ a dark voice slithered into his thoughts.

“What?” Dean said a bit loudly for their proximity, his ears suddenly ringing.

Castiel’s brow furrowed in concern, “I said I had given up hope on finding you again.”

Dean blinked rapidly, confused by the statement until his brain caught up. 

Every piece clicked together

This wasn’t about saving _him_.

This wasn’t about _him_ at all.

This was about replacing what he’d lost.

“Look man, I’m sorry, but uh--” He began in a rush, swiftly ducking out from between the workbench and the other man to avoid being pinned. He shuffled back toward the bike, running a hand through his hair to ground himself. This was getting out of hand, he needed to do something. 

“You’re late to the party. The Mark of Cain is another one of those ‘been there done that’ scenarios.” He explained, stalling for time as he searched around for anything, praying the solution would jump out at him.

“What?” Castiel asked, stunned, “That’s not possible.”

“Trust me,” Dean replied flatly, “I lived it. Not a good time.”

“But you show no signs or symptoms of having the Mark.”

“I don’t have it anymore,” Dean replied, turning back around fully now to address the angel at a significantly larger distance.

Castiel seemed to consider this for a moment before he took a step, his expression a strange mixture of relief and disbelief. “You didn’t...become a demon?”

Dean’s arms immediately crossed, his chest tight with apprehension and...something else. Something bitter and spiteful. It was difficult to concentrate.

“Oh no, I had a turn in that rodeo.” He replied in a low voice that betrayed how much it still affected him. “Not a fan.”

“But…” Castiel seemed to falter, his eyes narrow with an expression that was pained, as though Dean were telling him these things just to hurt him. “You’re human.”

“Yeah, you can thank Sam for that one,” Dean replied, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, avoiding looking at the angel. He hated thinking about that time. Hated thinking about how every vile inexcusable act he’d committed had all _been him_ without strings attached. The shame was profound. “Demonhood can be cured. Who knew?”

Castiel was quiet for a long time, long enough that Dean eventually gave up his avoidance and looked up. To his bewilderment, the angel was facing away leaning over the workbench. His hands gripped the edges hard enough that the metal had formed to the shape of them. His head hung low, dark curls obscuring his face. His chest and back expanded and fell with deep focused breaths like he was trying to control himself. 

The wind howled around the shape of the house outside, the harsh pelt of rain hammering away at the roof. He’d seen the moon clearly not even an hour ago. When had it started raining? Once again, the lights of the garage flickered menacingly before the one hanging directly above the angel suddenly popped, startling Dean, and showered sparks down around the angel’s feet.

“Cas--?” He asked cautiously. 

“Your brother cured you?” Castiel spoke aloud, his voice chillingly neutral despite the display.

“Yeah.” Dean replied, casting his gaze around for anything that could be used as a potential weapon. 

After a final slow inhale, Castiel straightened up and turned slowly to address the distressed hunter behind him.

“Yes. Yes, of course, he did.” Castiel murmured, almost compulsively, keeping his head downcast low enough that his displaced bangs obscured his eyes. “Forgive me.”

“You say that a lot,” Dean observed. "You got a guilty conscience, angel?" 

The bite in the words not only surprised him but put him on high alert. It felt similar to being under control in the shower, his mouth and voice being utilized like his body had been.

Castiel’s reaction was immediate, his head snapping up, and Dean was struck by the intense white irises of grace glowing eyes. There was hurt and anger in his expression but it was somehow directed past him.

Then it hit Dean.

He knew.

"You know!" Dean accused, taking a menacing step toward the angel despite the display of power, all pretense of the game flying out the window. “You know that he’s still here!”

Castiel held his eyes with his terrifyingly unnatural gaze for a few moments before the light slowly faded. With it, the oppressive feeling of crackling energy around them died as well, and the lights above returned to their continuous hum. When the angel made a move to get closer, Dean put the bike between them once again.

“Don’t. Touch me.” He barked, keeping the angel within his field of vision. “You’re not scrambling my brain again you bastard!”

Castiel looked as though he’d been kicked while he was down, but Dean wasn’t having any of it. Fuck him. Fuck playing nice. Giving in to the anger felt damn good. 

“Yeah, you didn't think I noticed that little maneuver, did you?!” Dean seethed.

“Dean, listen--”

“No, you fucking listen!” Dean spat, jabbing an accusatory finger at the angel. “I found your _logs_ ; thousands of tries until you found the ‘perfect replacement’, right? You sick fuck!”

For his part, Castiel seemed to roll with the punches, though his reply sounded very much like he was trying to convince himself right along with Dean. “No, no that’s not it at all. Please, Dean. Please. You are the only one here.”

“Bullshit!” Dean yelled angrily, “I’ve seen him, your Dean! Charred black holes for eyes right?! It don’t take a rocket scientist to figure out how that happened!”

“Stop.” Castiel hissed, his facade cracking. “You don’t understand--”

“Oh I _understand_. You said the Mark corrupted him, that he lost himself. You freaked out that I’m cured of being a demon, so obviously, you couldn’t cure him. But you couldn’t keep your fucking promise, could you? You wouldn’t put him out of his fucking misery!”

“Dean--” Castiel growled warningly as the lights around them began to flicker once again.

The fury was so immense it blinded him to all the signs of imminent danger. “So what, Cas? Did you try to keep him locked up like you’re keeping me locked up here now!? How many times did he try to escape before you finally killed him--!?”

“Enough!” The angel roared, the flash of grace erupting from him so sudden and powerful, that every single bulb in the garage burst at once. Dean felt the energy like a physical blow, his entire body flying back into the brick wall behind him. 

The crack of his skull against the stone was audible.

He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

Castiel was on him a moment later, tears already falling, and the frantically whispered litany of, “No no no no no no,” under his breath.

He crouched over the hunter’s prone body, maneuvering him to laying flat out on the floor where blood began to pool behind his head.

_Yikes,_ an insidious voice gasped from behind him in mock concern, _I think you broke him._ but the angel pointedly ignored it in favor of concentrating his grace to heal the fracture and subsequent hemorrhaging that his outburst had caused.

The quiet click of dress shoes on concrete slowly meandered around the bike until the angel could just make out the bastard leaning against the wall on the fringes of his periphery.

“You did this.” The angel hissed viciously. “You made him say those things.”

_But I’m not real, remember?_ The spirit drawled in a bored tone. _Isn’t that what you keep telling yourself to justify this little hell pit you’ve created?_

Once the hunter beneath his hands was stabilized, Castiel promptly delved into his mind to wipe away what had just occurred only to discover more than he bargained for. 

Numbly he scrubbed the vicious shower assault from Dean’s memory as well, then with a snarl he whipped around to face the demon responsible. It took only an instant to have the wretch pinned up against the wall by the throat.

“You _bastard!_ ” Castiel roared, all power and anger.

The apparition laughed low and sensual, rolling the entire length of its body in one lewd motion against the angel, causing him to hiss in disgust and release it. It then dissipated out of existence, the dark sound of its cruel laughter echoing off the concrete.

_It’s all coming to a head, angel,_ it mocked. _Either I’m the hallucination you use to justify your murderous insanity, or I’m real and everything monstrous thing you’ve done has_ **_been for absolutely nothing._ ** _Either way, I’d call that equality entertainment._

“You’re nothing but a disease! ” Castiel barked at the empty room. “An insignificant germ left to wriggle in a petri dish, and when I make him whole again, I will _leave you here to rot._ ”

_Along with all the corpses you put in the ground?_

“Shut up!” Castiel bellowed, turning around and around in an attempt to spot the spirit once again, his tone lethal. “Your filthy touch could have ruined everything!”

_Technically, he touched himself._ It explained with cruel amusement. _Besides, it’s your own fault for bringing him here. You know I can’t resist a pretty face._

“Cas?” Came a shaky voice from the floor.

The apparition’s face split into a cruel grin before it blinked out of existence, leaving the angel to spin around to find Dean attempting to sit up on the concrete, hand inspecting the back of his head still wet with blood from a wound that was no longer there. He peered up at the angel in alarm when his fingers came back crimson but before he could ask, Castiel was kneeling at his side.

In all the commotion, he’d forgotten to put him under. 

“You tripped,” Castiel explained in a tight voice, his hands frantically checking over the hunter. “It was my fault. I have tools scattered everywhere, I should have--”

“Shuddup will’ya” Dean hushed him, catching and holding one of the angel’s hands to get his attention. The hunter’s eyes were still dazed from the magic used on him, a sleepy smile pulling almost drunkenly at his lips.

The easy nature of the expression only made the angel feel worse, his face screwing up into a grimace as Dean pushed himself to sit up straight, using Castiel’s forearm for leverage with a slurred. “s’alright. Accidents happen,” under his breath.

When a dark throaty chuckle from behind them drew Dean’s attention, Castiel panicked. Before the hunter could turn his head to catch a glimpse of the dark spirit as it reappeared near the stairs, the angel gripped his chin and forced him back around.

Dean’s startled expletive was cut short as the Castiel pressed their lips firmly together.

The hunter went still as stone beneath the angel’s body, his eyes screwed tightly shut. For his part, Castiel kept them pressed together, leaning into and slightly over the prone man to keep his eyes fixed on the spirit who was currently watching the scene unfold with unabashed interest.

Castiel was a moment from pulling away when the unthinkable happened…

Dean began to respond, kissing him back. 

It was so surprising, so completely out of the realm of what he’d expected, that Castiel found himself completely consumed by the sensation; one he thought he would never feel again. It was messy and uncertain, one of the hunter’s hands fumbling for purchase against the fabric of the tight black shirt before finally latching around the side of the angel’s neck.

Once anchored, Dean pulled him in and kissed him with a fervor that left the angel dazed. Forgetting the spirit entirely, the entire universe narrowed down to Dean’s mouth moving against his own, the point of contact so warm and insistent that the angel lost himself in it completely. 

For one, earth shattering moment, the insatiable _ache_ in his heart dissipated and it was just them, together again. 

So enraptured, he didn’t notice the hunter’s other busy hand until it was too late.

In one fell swoop, Dean suddenly shoved Castiel away, knocking him off balance just long enough to slam his hand into the banishing sigil he’d drawn in his own blood while the angel was distracted.

“Dean wait--!” Was all he could shout in retaliation before his entire being was blown away in a brilliant flash of grace and magic.

The only sound in the aftermath was Dean’s own ragged breath. For a long moment, all he could do was sit in shock, feeling sick over how the kiss had affected him despite it being the perfect distraction. He allowed that train of thought to last all of a second before suddenly moving to action, scrubbing his sleeve over his mouth as if he could erase the evidence of it. 

Getting his shaky legs under him, Dean made for the kitchen, using first the work bench and then the wall for support, his limbs as heavy and uncooperative as they had been when he’d woken earlier; an indication that the bastard had messed with his head again.

Fucker. He’d blast him away again if he could.

Dean all but fell through the door into the kitchen in his haste. He had no way of knowing how soon the angel could return given his enhanced power so he fought vehemently against his own body’s sluggishness, completely unaware he was being watched with rapt attention. His focus was singular. He needed supplies; water and weapons.. 

Shaking off the worst of the magical effects, Dean managed to make his legs cooperate and trotted quickly back out toward the living room. Once there, he bolted for the wall, taking up the shotgun and two pistols before he realized with a frustrated curse that they were empty. Without the time to search for ammo, Dean abandoned them in favor of two angel blades of slightly different makes, securing them under his belt at his back before also taking up the ax he’d crafted in purgatory.

Its familiar weight in his hands was a small comfort. As he made his way back to the kitchen, he paused only briefly outside the study room door, still cracked open from his earlier intrusion, before deciding to dart back in. Once inside, it was two long strides to the desk where he snatched up the tome from the desk and then bolted with it. Back in the kitchen, he threw his gathered items into a cloth bag meant for groceries before tearing open a few drawers and cupboards in search, scattering utensils, and other nonconsequential items across the floor in his haste.

Finally, Dean threw open a storage cabinet to reveal a supply of bottled water.

Throwing a handful in the bag as well, Dean then raced back out into the garage. Shoving the waters and blade in one of the side saddlebags, the hunter searched around for a way to open the garage door, slamming the button so hard when he found it on the wall the plastic casing cracked.

_Almost there._

He threw a leg over the chassis and turned the key blessedly left in the ignition when a sudden chill passed over him, stealing his breath. For one terrifying moment, Dean thought the angel had returned already, but when he cast his eyes around the area, he found he was still alone.

Shaking off the feeling to access adrenaline, Dean took one final steadying breath as the electronic door finally opened completely, before kicking off. The sky was dark and swollen with storm clouds. Heavy sheets of rain pelted the earth below.

With his focus completely on the road illuminated by the single headlamp, the motorcycle streaked out of the garage. As a flash of lightning streaked overhead, Dean didn’t notice the illumination of his own eyeless reflection in the side mirror.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you are Russian and read my Russian here please feel free to correct any mistakes. I, a non-Russian pleb, must rely on google translator while writing.


End file.
